Saving Grace
by MissAnnThropic
Summary: With everything that was going wrong in Dean's life, it took him a while to realize that the person close to him that really needed the most help was Castiel.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Saving Grace

Author: MissAnnThropic

Spoilers: Season 6 Supernatural, up through "Clap Your Hands if You Believe"

LiveJournal: miss_annthropic(dot)livejournal(dot)com

Summary: With everything that was going wrong in Dean's life, it took him a while to realize that the person close to him that really needed the most help was Castiel.

Disclaimer: None of it's mine. I'm just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching DVDs of her favorite shows :(

Author's Note: I haven't given up the hopes of finishing some of the WIPs posted in the We All Need Endings post, but the Muse gave me a scornful look when I sat down to write on one of them and set furiously to this project instead. I am a slave to my Muse, I can only do her bidding! (For those of you curious, the current two front-runners for that competition are Signs and the sequel to Faire Skye). On the other hand, who can turn their nose up at some Dean/Castiel? :D

Also, one more note… for whatever reason, there was quite a bit of foul language in this fic, so be warned if your eyes are easily offended by cursing of the non-magic variety.

* * *

Dean knows he can be a pretty crappy friend. And when his family is in crisis, he's a downright _shitty_ friend, because Dean gets hung up on family in the worst way. Sam's missing his soul, and Dean's ready to gnaw through the roof of the Impala in his frustration and worry. It's not just the lack of a soul, either, but it's the Sam-thing that parades itself as Sam Winchester in his place. It might have all the birthmarks and memories, but that is _not_ Dean's brother, and working alongside _whatever_ Sam is has taken Dean to the ragged edge.

Plus there's a slew of creepy cousins (some of them apparently demons, and doesn't that just sound about right in the Winchester world) and a back-from-the-dead grandpa who's actually kind of douche that are fit to give Dean ulcers. Sam's no help there.

Then there's Lisa and Ben, whom Dean had started to think of as his family. Of course, now Lisa's given him the boot, and rightly so (Dean hadn't even told Lisa how desperately he'd wanted to drink her blood that night, or worse… _Ben's_), so Dean felt that epic failure in all its gut-wrenching torment. _Again_, Sam's no help there.

Bobby's still a rock, but during the debacle of getting him back his soul, the old hunter made it perfectly clear to Dean (and Sam, too, not that Sam _cared_) that while the Winchester boys _were_ important to him, they weren't _the_ most important creatures in the universe and Bobby _did_ actually have a life of his own. Dean got that, but the rebuke for taking his worries to Bobby was biting enough that Dean pulled away and gave Bobby some breathing room, free of Winchester angst.

Short of it is that Dean feels alone and helpless, and over the last long years he had come to trust that he could turn to one person outside family. Castiel. So when Castiel was suddenly proving to be most unhelpful, instead of trying to understand why Cas suddenly had better places to be than slogging through the mess of Dean's life alongside him, Dean got cranky. In some part of his warped brain, he was angry. Mad at Castiel for building something with Dean, getting Dean to let down his guard and believe he could count on him, only to stop being there whenever Dean needed him. Dean resented Castiel making Dean _need_ him in the first place. Then he resented Castiel not being there.

It was screwed up and Dean pretty much figured as much, but it didn't stop him from grinding his teeth every time he called out for Castiel and the angel didn't show. The times he did show, Castiel had excuses about a civil war in Heaven, but Dean could be childish when it came to what he considered being abandoned… he didn't listen and didn't care, because Castiel was _leaving him_.

Like a wounded animal, when Dean felt cornered and scared, he fought back. Sam didn't care about Dean's yelling, and Castiel clearly cared, but not _enough_.

He was so wrapped up in his own issues that he didn't pay too much attention to Castiel. Besides to bitch at him for not being more involved in Dean's problems.

A good friend would have noticed _way_ before Dean did that Castiel was having a rough time.

The first time he realized just how bad things were for Castiel it took him by surprise, because before that moment he honestly hadn't been _looking_.

Sam had left for the night… after coming clean with his confession about not sleeping, he was impossible to keep in a motel room overnight. Dean tried fighting about it, but it came down to the fact Dean _had_ to sleep, and when he did, Sam would do whatever the hell he pleased. Sam's point was that the night need not be wasted when he didn't need rest.

With his brother out doing god knew what without a conscience to guide him, Dean was alone in the motel room feeling particularly morose when the familiar sound of disturbed air made him turn his head.

Castiel was standing in the room.

"Cas…" Dean growled, "whatever it is, I'm really not in the mood right now. Find someone else to do your errands."

When Cas didn't answer, Dean looked up, ready to give Castiel another lecture about forgetting who his friends were down in the mud. The words died on his lips and he frowned when he set eyes on the angel. Castiel looked _tired_. The trademark trench coat he wore looked particularly rumpled, his hair more disheveled than usual, and his face looked drawn and his eyes shadowed. He stood there, arms limp at his sides, and he looked _beat_. Since getting his upgrade, Dean would think Castiel couldn't _get_ tired.

"Cas?" Dean asked with a hint of concern.

Castiel blinked slowly and looked up at Dean. He looked like someone who'd pulled two all-nighters in a row. _That_ Dean knew something about, but why in the hell would _Cas_?

"Dude… you look like shit. What happened?"

"I've… been at war."

It was nothing Dean hadn't heard lately already, but this was the first time it looked like Castiel was serious about it.

Without asking for an invitation, Castiel practically shuffled over to Dean's bed and sat down next to him, dropping heavily on to the end of the bed so close to Dean that their shoulders touched.

It felt like the way they used to be, before stopping the end of the world, and it made Dean's stomach knot. "You okay?"

Castiel's shoulders slumped and he looked down at his hands motionless in his lap. "Just tired."

"Did something go wrong?" Dean asked in dread. When something went wrong in Castiel's neck of the woods, it usually meant the shit hitting the fan for the whole damn forest.

"We… there was a battle. We won," Castiel sighed thinly, "but barely."

Dean nodded silently, thinking of what he could possibly say, then he asked, "What are you doing here?"

For a moment, Castiel didn't answer. The angel didn't move a muscle, as if the effort would be too taxing. Just seeing Castiel so drained worried Dean, because he'd seen the crap that tough little dude could take without batting an eyelash.

When Castiel finally looked up at Dean, the exhaustion in his eyes was enough to make Dean weary. "I went in search of respite… just a moment's peace."

"And that brought you _here_?"

Castiel dropped his eyes in confirmation.

Given all the shit going on around Dean lately, he'd say he was the last person to be a port in the storm. He almost wanted to laugh, but Cas looked so fucking exhausted that he didn't dare. He knew what it was like to be tired down to the core.

Hell… if just hanging out for a while was Castiel's idea of escape and rest, Dean wasn't about to deny him. In a strange way, it made Dean feel _needed_… the way he used to think Castiel might have come to need him. It made useless Dean Winchester feel _useful_ again, and he would take that as long as he could get it.

"You know you can stick around as long as you want," Dean offered in a low voice. He decided in that second not to bring up any of his complaints that he'd been hammering Castiel with nonstop for weeks… the guy looked like he couldn't take it anymore. Dean might be a shitty friend, but he was still a _friend_. And not seeing eye-to-eye aside, Dean wasn't about to forget the fact that Castiel _pulled him out of Hell_.

"I had feared…" Castiel took a tentative breath, "you have been unhappy with me lately, I wasn't sure you would care for my company."

Dean almost slung his arm around Castiel's shoulders but stopped himself just shy. He still had some things to work through with Cas before they were back to _that_, but he was willing to let those wounds heal. "Look, Cas… I know I've been giving you a hard time, and sure, we've got some ugly shit going on between us that needs to be fixed yesterday, but you're still my friend. Hell, about the only real friend I've ever had."

It was meant as a self-deprecating joke, but Castiel looked up slowly at Dean with those damned earnest blue eyes, and it made Dean clear his throat awkwardly.

"We _disagree_ lately, but that doesn't mean we stopped being friends." Dean offered a weak smile. "Frankly, I don't think I could deal with losing you as a friend right now on top of everything else I'm dealing with."

For half a second, Dean could have sworn he saw one corner of Castiel's mouth twitch upward. "Nor could I."

"Right, so… we'll work on that other shit later, but when you need a friend, you're always welcome to come to me."

"Thank you, Dean."

It was not even near enough to fix things since Castiel's return to Heaven, but it felt like a good start. For the first time in what felt like ages, Dean had something to feel sort of good about.

Castiel sat slumped on Dean's bed until Dean had to concede defeat and crawl under the covers to sleep. He was still stewing about the fact Sam was still out there somewhere, but having Castiel perched on his bed watching him was kind of like old times. In a weird, twisted, Winchester way, it felt comfortable and familiar.

"Night, Cas."

"Goodnight, Dean."

Cas was gone when Dean woke up – not that Dean was surprised – and Sam was back with a new hunt for them to dive into. Dean grumbled and looked sidelong at the Sam husk and never told him about Castiel's late-night visit.

To Be Continued…


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Dean saw Castiel was a week later. Dean was alone, _again_, in some crappy motel room while Sam was out. Dean got to where he dreaded to even wonder what Sam got up to at night. Half the time he came back in the morning with a new hunt or a huge clue to the one they were working, and it _was_ pretty damn handy, but Dean cringed to think what Sam might have done to get the information. Or what he did before and after. He was used to worrying about his baby brother all the time, but not like _this_.

They'd been arguing earlier about collateral damage on a hunt… what was acceptable, what wasn't, and Dean was appalled that Sam's answer was anything other than 'none'. Because when Sam talked about collateral now, he didn't mean property or money, he meant _people_.

That's how Dean ended up sitting at a motel room table at midnight, alone with a bottle of scotch.

The sound of ephemeral wings beating the air behind him made Dean swallow.

"Have you come for a pound of flesh?" Dean almost growled.

After a beat came Castiel's voice behind him, sounding just as ragged as Dean felt. "What? No, I haven't come for anything… I've just come."

Dean relaxed and gestured to the empty chair across from him. "Well, then, pull up a seat. Though I can't promise I'll be very good company tonight."

"That's all right," Castiel replied. "I won't be, either."

That made Dean chuckle hoarsely. "Having brother troubles, too?"

Castiel finally came slowly around the table and sat down in the empty chair. Dean looked up from his half-empty glass to peer at Castiel. Instantly, his sour glare turned into worry. "Cas…?"

Castiel looked up at Dean slowly, and no, it wasn't a trick of the light. There was a bruise, purple and covering most of the left side of Castiel's face.

"Damnit, Cas, what…" without thinking, Dean leaned forward and touched the tips of his fingers against the battered flesh. Cas tensed and started to pull out of reach, then he stilled himself and let Dean touch him.

"Things are difficult at the moment."

"Cas… you have a great gift for _understatement_." Dean prodded the skin carefully, relieved at least not to feel the slide of broken bones underneath, then he sat back and frowned. "Why haven't you just healed yourself? I've seen you take bullets and pull knives out of you like it was nothing."

Castiel sighed and Dean couldn't help but notice, again, how worn the angel looked… bruise aside.

"I healed most of it."

"Shit, how bad was it _before_?"

Ignoring Dean's question, Castiel laid his arms on the table and let it take some of his weight. "Since I was brought back by God after Lucifer destroyed me, this body has been mine… Jimmy Novak did not resurrect with me."

"Really?" Dean took a second to get his head around the idea that when he looked at Castiel now, it was just _Cas_ he was seeing. "So… what happens to it when you're not in it?" Dean shuddered to think that there was a Castiel-looking corpse lying somewhere whenever Castiel was up in the clouds being a wavelength of celestial intent.

"I… I'm not really certain. This body isn't a vessel so much as a… manifestation, I think. It's difficult to conceptualize. I only know that when I need to interact on this plane, I become this." He held up his hands like it was indication of something cumbersome, a burden at best. "But Jimmy is gone… it's only me in this form, and I've discovered that it's more tied to my true state than Jimmy's body would have been."

Dean threw back the rest of his drink and moved to pour another. "So… when you get beat to hell up there, you look like this down here?"

Cas nodded wearily. "If it makes you feel better, it feels much worse than it actually looks."

Dean snorted. "Dude… that makes me feel _worse_."

"Oh… sorry."

Dean filled his glass, considered the amber liquid a moment, then slid it across the table toward Cas.

Cas eyed it uncertainly before Dean capped the bottle and put it aside. "You look like you need it."

Without further urging, Castiel picked up the glass and chugged the whole thing down in one go. Dean winced in sympathy and sat in silence with Cas. He didn't know what to say, and he couldn't stop staring at the bruise on Castiel's face. How badly injured was Castiel's true self if the body was showing signs of abuse?

"Cas?"

Castiel looked up wearily at Dean. Dean would almost _swear_ they were bloodshot.

"I know this probably sounds like a flea talking to a lion, but… is there anything I can do to help?"

For a moment, Castiel looked pensive. Then he sagged and shook his head. "No… but thank you, Dean."

Castiel sat up into the wee hours of the morning with Dean, drinking dry half of Dean's stash and saying precious little. When Dean finally had to throw in the towel and go to bed, Castiel remained at the table, pale and damaged in the light from the street lights outside. Dean mumbled a drunken 'goodnight' and drifted off thinking…

…thinking of the moment's pause before Castiel assured Dean there was nothing that he could do.

To Be Continued…


	3. Chapter 3

Dean didn't see Castiel again for several days, and even with all the other shit going sideways in his life, Dean found himself worrying about the angel. Cas had looked like crap the last time he came by, and the longer Dean went without hearing from the guy, the more he fretted that something had happened to him. How would Dean ever know if Castiel _died_ up there in Heaven's civil war? It wasn't like Castiel had a contact directory of next of kin to notify with Dean's phone number listed.

The nights alone in the motels were harder and harder to take. The situation with Sam wasn't getting any better, the Campbells were a headache and a half (and that's when Dean _didn't_ have to speak to them), and monsters were out of their freaking minds even more than usual.

When Dean found himself absently touching the handprint scar on his shoulder, he gave in and called out to Castiel.

When the angel appeared a moment later in Dean's motel room, Dean literally let out a breath of relief.

"Cas!" he greeted. Dean got up off the bed and walked over to the angel. He ended up hurrying his step so he could reach out and steady the swaying figure. "Whoa! Hey… you okay? What's wrong, Cas?"

Castiel fought to get his feet under him, but he seemed destined to need Dean's help to stay upright. He looked awful. Dean could hardly believe his eyes, but Castiel looked like he'd lost weight. And the guy didn't have a lot of extra padding to begin with.

"Dean… are you in danger?" Cas rasped thinly. God love the nerdy little guy, he looked like Rocky after a bad round of boxing but he _still_ answered Dean's call when he thought it might be because Dean needed saving.

"Huh? No, I… I just called 'cause you haven't been in touch lately. I was worried about you. Clearly for good reason." Dean stepped into Castiel's side and reached around him to better help him stand. When Dean's arm came in contact with Castiel's back, the angel let out a hoarse cry and arched away from the touch.

"Shit! What?" Dean pulled his arm back hastily and saw sticky red blood on his sleeve.

"You're _bleeding_, Cas."

"I am," he said in droll monotone.

"What happened?" Dean asked as he began to lead/drag Castiel toward the room's single bed. The Winchesters stopped getting doubles at motel rooms… that was how far gone things were with Sam of late.

Castiel grunted and hissed through his teeth with every breath. "One of Raphael's followers… tried to cut off my wings."

For a heartbeat, Dean froze. "_Tried_, right? He didn't?"

A humorless, dry sound escaped Castiel's chapped lips. "I didn't make it easy… I fought him off, but I was damaged." Castiel looked briefly toward Dean. "I wasn't sure I would make it to you when I heard you call."

At the side of the bed, Dean drew away from Castiel and examined him like a medic performing triage. "Clothes off."

"What?"

Dean looked sternly at Cas. "You're bleeding. That means you have a cut, and a cut I can stitch."

"That isn't necessary… after I've had some time to recover, my powers will allow me to heal."

"And in the meantime, you'll bleed out. I don't know how you'll function in a body that hasn't got a drop of blood left in it."

Castiel sighed in annoyance, "You exaggerate," but he was carefully tugging off the trench coat just the same. It was unbearable to watch Cas struggle, so Dean stepped in and helped the angel out of his clothes. The trench coat was stained with blood. So was the suit coat, but the dark color masked the extent of the injury. When the suit coat was off, Dean got a better idea of what he was dealing with when he got a look at the back of Castiel's white shirt. A wide red stain began up near Castiel's right shoulder blade and continued all the way down to his beltline. "Fuck, Cas… are you sure that asshole didn't actually tear your wing off?"

"I would not have gotten here if he had," Castiel replied tersely, dropping his bloody jacket on the floor.

With both of them at it, Cas was stripped down to his waist with minimal signs of excruciating pain, but it was not pleasant for either man. Castiel was pale and actually _sweating_ by the time he was standing before Dean shirtless, and Dean wanted to throw up. Cas wasn't supposed to be breakable like this.

Even before Dean got Cas turned around to inspect his back, he was staring at his front. If Dean had a mind to, he imagined he could count every one of Castiel's ribs. How could a freaking angel of the Lord look so damn frail?

"You're staring," Cas accused feebly.

"Yeah, well, you look like hell," Dean countered.

"I've seen you look worse," Cas grumbled, and Dean barked out a laugh.

"Right… come on, lay down on the bed. No, on your stomach, doofus. I need to get at your back."

Painstakingly, gingerly, Castiel climbed on the bed and settled down on his stomach. Once he was down, he just seemed to deflate, sinking into the pillow and mattress with a groan.

Dean's eyes were locked on the gash on Castiel's back. Because it wasn't a _cut_, it was a _gash_. It looked like he'd been grazed with a meat cleaver.

"Jesus," Dean muttered.

"Had nothing to do with it," Cas said into the pillow.

Dean fetched the first aide kit and perched himself carefully on the edge of the bed next to Cas. "Will giving you morphine do any good?" he asked before he got started.

"No… the worst pain is tied to my true form."

"Fuck… sorry, Cas… this is going to hurt."

"I know… thank you."

Trying to be as gentle as possible, Dean cleaned and stitched the wound. It took an hour. The whole time Castiel was rigid under Dean's hand, his own hands fisted in the sheets as he bit down on a scream.

"You know," Dean said gently, "sometimes yelling makes you feel better." Dean could remember many times cussing a blue streak through his own home stitch jobs… times when they hadn't had drugs or booze to deaden the agony.

Cas gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut. "If I scream, it will be in my true voice… I don't wish to render you deaf."

"Oh… well, I appreciate that."

When Dean was finished stitching up the angel, he felt just as sweat-soaked and sickened as Castiel looked. Cas was shaking and panting on the bed, the crooked line of stitches on his back standing out black against too-pale skin.

Not sure what else to do, Dean taped a trail of bandages over the wound, then flipped the covers from the other side of the bed over the angel's body, effectively wrapping Castiel up like he was the meat in a taco. Castiel seemed to appreciate the warmth, though he still looked like refried shit.

Dean washed his hands and went back to sit on the edge of the bed next to Cas. He scrubbed his face with one hand and frowned. "I don't know what else I can do."

"You've done enough," Cas answered, and Dean couldn't help but laugh. Cas opened one eye and looked up in confusion at him.

"Just… depending on _how_ you say that… never mind," Dean sagged in exhaustion.

Cas noticed. He frowned and began to shift, intent on getting up. "I'm in your bed and you need sleep."

Immediately, Dean's hand shot out to still Cas. Afraid of touching Castiel's back where he was hurt, his hand ended up on Cas's ass, which was awkward and a half, but Cas didn't seem to notice. Probably too focused on other parts of his body to really care where Dean's hand fell. Or too angel to consider a touch on his butt any different from a touch on the shoulder.

"No, you stay. I didn't have some jackhole trying to rip my wing off."

"Dean… you don't have wings."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, and what a shame, because that would be kind of awesome… you know, if I wasn't freaked to hell by flying. Don't sweat it… there's room, I'll take the other side of the bed."

Castiel eyed him. "Are you certain you would not be uncomfortable with that?"

"Nah… it's fine. I've shared a bed no telling how many times with Sam, and you're half his size. I probably won't even notice you're there."

Maybe if Castiel hadn't been so wiped he would have argued further… as it was, Cas sank back into the bed with a look of exhausted relief that he hadn't had to find the strength to move.

Dean changed clothes, swapping jeans and bloodied t-shirt for sweats and a clean shirt. He snagged his jacket to drape over him for a blanket… no way was he stealing any of Castiel's covers. The guy looked like a malnourished kitten enough already.

As Dean was drifting off, he asked groggily, "Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Will you sleep?"

"… maybe."

That was so disturbing that Dean couldn't think of anything to say. He resolved himself to sleep, fighting to bury himself beyond everything… soulless Sam and wounded Castiel, all of it.

To Be Continued…


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of Dean's phone on the nightstand alerting him to a new text message kicked Dean rudely out of slumber. Dean peeled open an eye, glowered at his phone, then he flung out a clumsy hand to grab the thing and open it.

It was from Sam. Already, Dean didn't like it.

_In next town over. Found something. Checking it out. Will call later_.

Dean groaned and dropped the phone to the floor in protest. He was so sick of worrying about his brother every hour of every damn day. Speaking of hours… he craned his next to look at the room clock. 6:14 a.m. At least if Sam was going to be a soulless dickwad, he could do it during decent hours.

He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but his worry switch had been flipped with the receipt of Sam's text, and Dean knew he was screwed. With a growl, he rubbed his face with one hand.

Then he remembered last night.

Dean sat up abruptly and looked to the bed space next to him… only to find it empty.

"Cas?" Dean called out.

"I'm here, Dean," came the familiar, gravelly voice from the direction of the room's bathroom.

Not thinking about how weird it was, Dean got up immediately and went to check on Cas in the bathroom. The angel was standing in front of the sink, hands braced on the counter and shoulders stooped, his head hanging low. The harsh light of the bathroom wasn't doing the angel any favors. The bloodied bandages Dean had taped to Castiel's back were strewn over the bathroom floor. The wound on his back was partially healed, and not much thanks to Dean's needlework, Dean noticed with chagrin. The raw edges of skin were mended together, marked by a tender pink line. The stitches in his skin were angry black knots in flesh fighting to be pristine.

"How you doing?" Dean asked carefully.

Cas heaved a ragged sigh. "It's taking more out of me than usual to heal."

"Are the stitches going to be a problem?" When Cas had been bleeding all over the place last night, Dean hadn't really thought about it.

"Once I'm strong enough, I can make them disappear."

Dean stood silently, watching Castiel struggle to marshal his strength for something as simple as _healing_. He knew the kind of beating Castiel could take, and for the angel to be in such rough shape said a lot about what he was going through upstairs.

"Cas… you can't go back up there. You're on the ragged edge here."

"At the moment, no… I don't have enough energy to fly. But as soon as I do, I must. I don't have a choice, Dean. Raphael cannot be allowed to resume the Apocalypse."

And Dean agreed, that sounded like mountains of shit that should not happen, but there had to be others who could take over for a while, give Castiel a damn second to catch his breath.

"I'm worried about you, Cas," Dean confessed lowly. "I mean _seriously_ worried that if you go back there into that war like this, this will be the last time I see you."

Castiel stilled at that and lifted his head, looking at Dean in the reflection in the mirror. He looked terrible. Dean wasn't feeling good about the shape of things in Heaven if the good guys looked so bad.

"I appreciate your concern," Castiel said, and damn if Dean didn't think the guy was sincere. He was happy just to have someone who would be upset if he died.

That wasn't good enough for Dean.

"There has to be _something_ I can do. For all the times you've saved my ass, there must be _something_…"

Again there was that pause, and if Dean didn't know Cas so fucking well he might not understand it for what it was.

But lately, Dean got Cas better than he did his own brother.

"There _is_ something, isn't there?" Dean pressed.

"No… I would never ask that of you," Castiel answered weakly, pushing away from the sink before it looked like he was ready. Dean prepared himself to jump in and support Castiel's weight, but Cas put out a hand and steadied himself on the wall. With a force of effort, he straightened and turned to face Dean. It was Cas trying to look all confident and self-possessed, but the gaunt, unclothed torso and bruise-color underneath tired blue eyes sabotaged his intentions.

Dean stood firm in the bathroom doorway, barring Castiel's way (and it said so much about Castiel's state that the angel was actually stopped by Dean's body in his path). "You didn't _ask_. I _offered_."

"Dean…"

"Cas, look at you! This is bad, and I know I was kind of a dick before about your problems up there, but I _do_ get it. Bad guys in charge in Heaven bad news for everyone. So I'm not just asking if I can help you, I'm asking you how I can help _everyone_." There… see if the angel could find fault with _that_.

Something stony and stubborn filled Castiel's eyes… but also something warm and touched. "Believe me, Dean… you wouldn't even consider it. Now please move aside."

Dean did, but he did not give up. He followed Castiel as the angel went in search of his clothes. They were still in a bloody pile by the bed, where they had been discarded last night. Castiel stooped stiffly and fetched them off the floor, scowling at the bloodstains.

"Well," Dean began as he continued to harass the evasive angel, "how about you tell me what it is, _then_ I'll decide if it's out of the question."

The angel didn't answer right away… instead, he focused on his clothes. Like a first-grader trying to color inside the lines, Castiel's brow furrowed and his lips pinched as he willed the clothes to clean themselves up. Slowly, it worked… the bloodstains on both shirt and trench coat faded, but did not disappear completely. Instead of looking like blood, it looked like engine grease, like Cas had been under a car in his holy tax accountant get-up changing the oil. The mental image made Dean smirk.

Cas, looking peeved but resigned to dirty attire for the time being, looked up from the task of mending his clothing and caught the faintly amused expression on Dean's face.

The upturned lips seemed to crack something of the wall in Cas… maybe the semi-smile made him see Dean, his friend. He took a deep breath and nodded. "Very well." He beckoned Dean closer as he put his shirt back on, fumbling with the buttons a little.

They both sat down on the edge of the bed… Cas looked like he needed to sit, and Dean would feel weird towering over Castiel.

Despite his pledge to tell Dean, Castiel still seemed to search for the words. He looked up at Dean, locked eyes with him, and said, "Do you remember when I told you that I am being asked to do some regrettable things?"

"Yeah."

"You don't understand how dangerous that is for an angel. It is, essentially, what happened with Lucifer. When an angel makes choices that are morally ambiguous… if our actions are sinful enough, it can corrupt our grace."

"Like a disease?"

Castiel cocked his head as he considered the comparison. "Yes… that is quite apt. Our grace, our equivalent of a soul, can be infected. The darkness can spread until we're either cast down or fall."

"Is that what's happening to you?" Dean asked with a sinking sense of dread.

"No. I am walking a fine line, as you would say, doing regrettable things, but not so regrettable that my grace is tarnished by them.

"However, many of Raphael's followers are not so constrained. They believe that once the Apocalypse scourges the Earth, a tarnished grace won't matter. They believe they can exist happily on Earth as less than angels, having fallen from Heaven for their actions, when the undesirable humans have been wiped out. Therefore, they are willing to do things that I cannot… not if I want to keep my grace unmarred."

"So… what's the thing I won't like?"

"I could better fight this war if I didn't have to fear for my grace… among angels, during the last such Heavenly conflict when Lucifer was cast down, one angel could give a piece of his grace to another to hold. Grace is a living thing, it can be regrown from a fragment, or a blackened grace saved if a part of the grace in its pure state survives somewhere. The unblemished grace can purify the corrupted grace when the two are rejoined."

"Sort of like a skin graft?"

"Distantly, yes." The look on Castiel's face made Dean think it was probably about as similar as pie was to a jetliner, but probably the closest Dean could come to understanding.

"So? Why not give a piece of your grace to one of your angel buddies?"

Castiel looked nauseous at the thought. "I would… if I had any that I trusted completely. Too many brothers and sisters who I thought were my friends and allies have proven to be enemies… I don't trust any of them enough to give them a piece of myself."

When Castiel put it like that, it made sense. Dean wouldn't ask any of those other angels to hold on to his coat for a while, much less part of his soul.

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly. "This is where you get to the part I won't like, isn't it?"

Castiel nodded. "It's possible a human could hold a small piece of an angel's grace."

"Has it ever been done before?"

"Not to my knowledge."

For a minute, Dean mulled that over quietly. "So, you're asking me to put a piece of your grace inside me, for safekeeping, so you can go all Darth Vader on Raphael and his dipshits."

"No… I'm not asking anything of you, Dean."

"Right… you mind giving me some time to think about it?"

The look in Castiel's eyes was infinitely affectionate… something that disarmed Dean.

"That you would even consider it for the briefest moment honors me, but I don't expect it of you. Don't trouble yourself with such thoughts."

"Right."

But still, Dean thought about it.

To Be Continued…


	5. Chapter 5

Only a few weeks left until the LA convention in February… starting to feel the anticipation/panic! That is all… on to the story!

* * *

It took Dean only a few hours to make his decision.

Since Castiel had been too weak to flap or teleport or whatever back into battle, Dean had an angel in tow for the day. Or at least for part of it. Dean hoped to keep Castiel earth-bound as long as humanly possible, because the angel did not look fit to fight anything stronger than a toddler. Dean took Castiel to breakfast, to a park, for a drive… basically, the most restful, stress-free things he could think of to give Cas time to recharge his batteries. Dean knew damn well that the best weapon any of them had was Cas at full strength.

Which was why he made his decision so quickly.

They were leaning side by side against the hood of the Impala, Dean with a beer in hand. Dean had pulled off on to the shoulder on a back road outside town to have a quiet drink with the angel (even if Cas had declined the beer Dean tried to give him). Dean had gotten a couple of text messages from Sam, each one more pissy than the last, but Dean ignored them. Let Sam know what it was like to have a rogue brother for a while. Not that Sam _would_ feel about it one way or another.

Dean stole a glance at Cas beside him. The angel looked much better than he had last night. He still didn't look like himself, and it wasn't just the strangeness of seeing him in dirty, stained clothes. He still looked too thin, too pale, too troubled, but he looked almost strong enough to up and fly. Dean could almost swear he saw Castiel flexing his shoulders a couple of times, as if trying out the fitness of his wings.

He figured he wouldn't have the angel around much longer.

"So…" Dean began casually, drawing Castiel's attention away from gazing up at the sky. "How would you go about giving me a piece of your grace?"

Castiel's eyebrow rose. "Hypothetically?"

Dean just took a drink and waited.

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "I don't see any reason to discuss the logistics… I will not ask you to do that." He started to turn his gaze upward again, pleased by the sight of the sky… or maybe he was giving _getting there_ a college try.

"And I told _you_ already that you aren't _asking_… I'm _offering_ to hold on to it for you."

Castiel's eyes came down so fast and hard on Dean that Dean almost swallowed nervously. Castiel had one hell of a piercing mother of a look when he had a mind to use it.

The intensity of Castiel's gaze lifted and he looked perplexed. "I still find it difficult to grasp the concept of humor…"

"Damnit, Cas, I'm not screwing around with you. You need a place to stash your grace, I'm giving you one."

Castiel pushed away from the car and moved a few steps away. Dean watched the tense lines of Castiel's shoulders and back as he stopped and turned slowly to face Dean. He looked almost beleaguered. "You don't want this, Dean. I know better than anyone how fiercely you fought having Michael inhabit you… though it might differ in amount, this is the same concept. An angel, or part of one, _in you_."

Dean set his beer down on the hood a little harder than he meant to, getting Castiel's attention with the sharp clang of glass on metal. Dean shoved off the car and strode toward Castiel, stopping within that precious personal space that Cas didn't get. "That was different… Michael was a douche and a stranger and he would have hollowed me out like a watermelon. You said an angel lives as long as a piece of his grace does, right? Well, I'm pretty damn worried that you're going to get yourself killed up there in this angel war. If I can give you an insurance policy, a way to _not_ die, hell yeah I'm going to do it."

Cas looked dubious.

Thinking of something that might convince Cas of his sincerity, Dean rolled up the left sleeve of his shirt, bearing the handprint scar Castiel had left on Dean when he pulled him out of Hell. Castiel's eyes dropped to it immediately and held there.

"Can you honestly look at this, at what you did, and think I don't want to do this for you?"

Castiel's right hand flexed, as if remembering putting that mark there or resisting the temptation to fit his digits over the scar tissue. He looked up somberly into Dean's eyes. "You don't owe me anything, Dean."

He let go of his sleeve and squared his shoulders as he faced Castiel. "Okay, first off, I literally owe you damn near everything, but second… I _want_ to help you. You're my friend, Cas. I don't want you to die for the selfish reason that I don't want to lose you."

That seemed to finally penetrate Castiel's resistance. He met Dean's eyes, searching.

"If you are absolutely certain…" Castiel hedged.

"Absolutely."

"Grace has never been harbored within a human… while I'm confident your body could tolerate the part of mine I would leave in you, I couldn't tell you what effects it might have on you."

"So we fly by the seat of our pants, business as usual." Dean put his hand on Castiel's shoulder. "You've saved my life so many times that I've lost count… let me return the favor."

Life flashed in Castiel's eyes… like he was waking up from a long, tiring dream. Dean knew in that moment he'd won.

"So… how is this going to work?" Dean asked.

"I would need a moment to carve away a piece of my grace," Cas began thoughtfully. "Then I would have to kiss you."

"Okay… wait, what?"

Castiel's expression turned bemused. "The easiest way to pass my grace to you would be through the mouth… the other option would be for me to shove it up your chest."

A vivid mental image of Castiel's arm buried practically elbow-deep in Sam's chest came to mind. "Uh… I'm hoping to go through my whole life _not_ getting the angel cavity search treatment." Dean shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Kiss you, huh? That doesn't sound too bad. I mean, Anna's grace went back in her through her mouth, so… yeah, I'll go with that."

With a grave nod, Castiel began to breathe differently, like meditation or bracing himself for an ordeal. Dean felt stupid standing there watching. Castiel spared a second to say, "It will take me a moment to tear out a piece of my grace… you have that long to change your mind."

"Not going to happen," Dean promised, even though he didn't like how painful for Castiel this was starting to sound. _Tear out_?

Cas stood in the middle of the deserted road, eyes closed and breathing long and deep. Dean, not sure what he should do, started to move away when Castiel's hand blindly snaked out and grabbed him by the wrist. Dean froze and stood watching.

After what seemed ages, Cas slowly lifted his head. He kept his eyes closed, but his lips barely parted. Dean could see light inside, glowing from the depths of Castiel's throat.

Castiel's fingers tightened on Dean's wrist in silent communication.

"Here goes," he muttered to himself. Then he stepped forward and captured Castiel's mouth with his own.

Castiel's other hand came to curl around the back of Dean's neck, and his mouth opened against Dean's. Warmth touched Dean's lips, a tingling happy warmth, and Dean opened his mouth to receive it.

A bolt of heat rolled down his throat and exploded in his chest. Dean gasped and staggered back. He felt it swelling inside him, too much and too strong. He felt like he was about to burst open. Dean wanted to ask just _how much_ of his grace Cas just stuffed down him.

But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a laugh. A joyful, surprised laugh. Dean went down on one knee on the asphalt, his head swimming with the light in his chest. Second by second, Dean began to pick apart the sledgehammer of strong feelings that had lodged behind his sternum. It was awe. Happiness. Peace. It was every summer day of his childhood. Every ice cream cone he'd ever tasted. Ever woman he'd ever touched. It was puppies and the Impala and every proud smile he father sent his way. It was little Sammy curled up in his lap. It was existence with no boundaries, no limits, no end. It was Castiel and it was Dean, every shred of happiness either of them had ever known, woven tight around itself, knitted into a ball of alacrity and Heaven's light.

"Dean?"

Dean didn't remember falling flat on the ground, but he found himself looking up into Castiel's worried face.

Dean beamed unwittingly. "_Damn_, dude, is _this_ what it's like to be you?"

Castiel's frown melted into a tired but kind smile. "You only have a fragment of my grace in you," Castiel explained gently, "and I don't know how it might be interacting with your soul."

"God damn, they're having a fucking orgy in there!"

"I see." Castiel blinked. "I'm not sure I'll want my grace back after it's been living in you."

Dean laughed. "Cas, man… if you could feel _this_, you would want in on it."

With Castiel's help, Dean climbed to his feet. He still felt giddy, heady with everything bursting in his chest, but it was calming down already. While the sheer ecstasy of Dean's soul touching Castiel's grace was fading away, there remained a feeling inside him that Dean hadn't thought he'd ever feel. He felt whole. Ever since Hell there'd been a gaping hole inside him… he'd stopped even feeling it, it was there so long. But now it was filled, brimful with Castiel's grace.

"Are you _crying_?" Castiel asked in concern. "Is it hurting you?"

Dean wiped in embarrassment at his eyes. "No… you're not hurting me. I just forgot what it felt like to not hurt anymore, s'all."

The answer seemed to puzzle Castiel, but the sentiment seemed grateful, so Castiel offered a half-smile.

"So you'll be okay now, right?" Dean asked, hating how he sounded like a little kid when he asked.

"I will continue to fight, but now… now I can do that without… one hand tied behind my back. Was that the correct phrase?"

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, it was."

Cas tilted his head back to look up at the sky. He frowned. "I have to go."

"Kick 'em in the ass, Cas."

Castiel smirked. "I will. Thank you, Dean."

And with that, Dean was standing alone on a back road with a chunk of angel grace in his chest.

To Be Continued…


	6. Chapter 6

Sam was waiting for Dean when he got back to the motel, and he was not a happy camper.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam demanded pretty much the second Dean walked through the door.

Dean felt his back go rigid… it always did when he had to argue with this mockery of his brother. "What?" he asked evenly while he closed the door and dropped his keys on the table.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Counting to _one thousand_ wouldn't help with this. "I might ask you that about last night, or the night before, or the night before _that_…"

"Geez, are we back to _that_?"

Dean glowered. "Don't pretend like it's _nothing_."

"I told you, I go out." Sam shifted ever so slightly, moved just enough _precisely_, and Dean suspected it was only to make him painfully aware of what a freakishly-muscled giant of a man Sam was. Dean glowered at not-Sam for trying to intimidate him with his size.

"I don't see what you're complaining about," Sam snarled. "How much of your work have I done on every hunt we've been on since we started working together again?"

"Right, all that work I didn't do because I needed _sleep_, like fucking _humans_ do!"

Sam stood tensely in the middle of the room, fists clenched at his sides, feet braced apart… he looked like nothing brotherly and everything dark and dangerous.

"Okay, then why don't you explain the blood on the bed?" Sam snarled. The stained sheets from patching up Castiel's gaping wound.

"Cut myself shaving," Dean snapped back tersely.

"Whatever, forget it," Sam growled with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I've got better things to do than stand here arguing with you."

Dean watched Sam stalk out. He couldn't say why he didn't tell Sam about having a piece of Castiel's grace… except maybe the same reason Castiel hadn't left his grace with one of _his_ brothers. Dean didn't trust Sam anymore than Castiel trusted his brothers.

* * *

Dean could feel Castiel's grace inside him, warm and soft and tickling and soothing all at once. It felt like never being hungry or thirsty… never wanting sex. It was satiation. It wasn't an all the time feeling… most of the time, it was a sensation in the background (which was a damn good thing, or Dean might waste away from starvation just by forgetting he needed to eat, and for Dean Winchester to go out that way would be a cosmic joke of truly biblical proportions). But when Dean was still, when he concentrated on feeling for that ball of light inside him, he felt that angelic beauty spill through him, riding his blood like a water park ride until it filled his skin to bursting with content.

Sam had mentioned Dean being quieter and _calmer_ recently, but Dean just grumbled something vaguely malcontent and insulting. It had been over a week since Dean got served a dose of grace, and he hadn't spoken a word about it to Sam. Dean didn't want to see that cold, calculating mind of robo-Sam start thinking of ways the information could be _used_.

Dean hadn't seen Castiel since then, either, and that worried Dean. Sometimes, for no discernable reason whatsoever, he'd be overcome with a sense of dread for Cas… just out of nowhere. It felt like more than a bad feeling, but Dean tried not to entertain the thought that the grace he had inside him connected him to Castiel somehow… tried and failed.

Sleeping was a whole new experience. His dreams had taken a strange turn… sometimes, he could swear he was dreaming Cas dreams. Not to say that Castiel the holy tax accountant was in them, but he'd dream of shit like light and wind and recognize them as beings. Other angels. Cherubs. Archangels. How a swirl of color and light could be Michael the Archangel, Dean didn't know, but that's what it was in his dreams.

Hunting became a whole new ballgame, too.

The first demon they came across after Dean began to harbor Castiel's grace had been an eye-opener. The demon was disguised as a librarian, an elderly woman with sparkling green eyes… but the second Dean came face to face with her, he recoiled. She smelled like rot to him, decay, death. And she must have sensed something in him, too, because her well-placed smile vanished and her eyes went jet black.

If libraries were finicky about people talking, they were _really_ apoplectic about a brawl between two men in their prime going ape on some little old librarian with sudden Herculean strength. They hauled ass out of there after exorcising the demon, and Sam asked on the run, "Dude, what the fuck happened back there?"

Feigning ignorance, all Dean could offer was, "Not a clue, let's _go_ before the cops get here." Two strapping men wailing on a little old lady wouldn't sit well with the locals, even if they _ought_ to be thanking the Winchesters.

As far as Dean's day to day life went, having an angel's grace lodged in his body didn't change anything. Sometimes he got weird feelings, and demons had a new aversion to him, but otherwise it was still Dean's crappy life. Still Dean trying to keep his head above water in a mess of monsters, missing souls, and risen-from-the-dead extended family. He was _so_ dreading the holidays.

If anything, Dean had to wonder what the hell Cas was thinking giving his grace to _Dean Winchester_ to keep safe. He'd be better off giving it to a Mexican drug cartel runner if he wanted it safe than to Dean. But then, if Cas considered _Dean's_ care safe, that said a fuck-load-lot about what the war upstairs was like.

Sometimes, when Dean was alone at night in the motel, he would rest a hand on his chest and totally _not_ pray, but hope aloud that Cas was okay. He had to think that if Castiel actually got killed up there, the piece of him in Dean's ribcage would know it and feel it. It was a comforting thought, at least, that Dean didn't get any psychic vibes of death, so Castiel must still be fighting the good fight.

To Be Continued…


	7. Chapter 7

The next time Castiel paid Dean a visit, Dean _felt_ the angel before he saw him.

Dean was staking out a house (where a wendigo that had come into a populated area might or might not have set up a modern lair) when suddenly his chest swelled and _hummed_. Like high-voltage electricity rumbling in his chest, making his breath catch and the hairs on his arms stand up.

Then there was the sound of wing beats and suddenly the empty passenger seat wasn't empty anymore.

Dean looked over at Castiel and instant relief swept through him (manifesting in a luminous sensation within his ribcage). "Heya, Cas."

In the next second, Dean looked closer at Castiel's profile. It could just be the light, but the angel looked… darker. Fierce, like a feral beast backed into a corner. Then the look passed, or changed, and Castiel turned his head to look at Dean. He looked gaunt and haggard, but at least the glint in his blue eyes when he saw Dean was pretty much the same.

"Hello, Dean… where is Sam?"

"Oh… tracking a wendigo. Apparently they have a thing for the suburbs now. Monsters lately, I tell you." Dean hesitated. "How are things going in Heaven?"

A scowl cut sharp lines into the shadows on Castiel's face. "Right now, it seems grossly misnamed."

Dean grimaced. "Shit… sorry. Are things looking any better for the good guys?"

A storm cloud seemed to settle over Castiel, returning that bestial semblance to the angel's features. He looked down at his hands, half-curled in his lap, like he was thinking of someone he'd just been choking… or someone he wanted to. "I don't know how good the good guys are anymore," Castiel mumbled.

Fuck.

And it was something Dean understood all too well. He was always considered the good guy, but people would be surprised as how rarely he felt like it.

"I sometimes fear I am in danger of falling for what I've done… or being cast out," Castiel confessed softly.

On impulse, Dean reached over and rested his hand on Castiel's shoulder. The hard muscle went even harder at the touch, but he didn't pull away.

"Look… as the guy who did some really fucked up shit down in Hell, believe me, I get it. But you _are_ the good guy, Cas. Never forget that."

Castiel slowly lifted his gaze to meet Dean's, and there was something needy and searching in his look. He needed and wanted to believe Dean, maybe for the sake of his own salvation.

It startled Dean when Cas reached over, without warning, and laid a warm hand on his chest. Dean sucked in a breath but did not pull away. The grace in his chest seemed to burn brighter and stronger from physical contact with the angel who had the rest of it. That 'everything happy' feeling toyed with the periphery of Dean's senses. It was better than drinking or drugs could ever make him feel.

A calm look claimed Castiel's face.

"You can feel it?" Dean asked in a hesitant whisper.

"Yes… it's clean. I'm not anymore." It sounded like despair.

"You're doing what you have to… it's okay."

And whether it was or it wasn't, it just _was_. Castiel's fingers curled against the material of Dean's shirt.

Dean closed his eyes, basking in the feeling of content and comfort, just as strong at his side as it was in his body. He almost whimpered when Cas dropped his hand and the intensity of the feeling faded.

He opened his eyes and looked at Cas, waiting for the angel to tell him why he'd come. When he didn't, Dean realized this was another snatch of respite for the angel at war.

Castiel settled more comfortably in the seat, slouching down until he could rest his head on the back of the seat. It was odd to see the usually so prim-and-proper angel sprawling like a moody teenager in homeroom.

"Has having my grace in you caused you any discomfort or difficulty?"

"No… actually, it's been nice."

Cas rolled his head along the seatback to look at him. "Nice?"

Dean slumped down to mirror Castiel's body language. "Yeah… feels like home-baked apple pie."

Castiel's face screwed. "My grace is not a pastry."

That made Dean laugh. "I know that. I just mean it makes me feel like really awesome pie does… or barreling down the highway in the Impala with the pedal to the metal. Or, you know, really fantastic sex."

One of the angel's eyebrows rose. "I don't know how to take that my grace reminds you of orgasm."

"Be complimented," Dean said with a slow smile. He shrugged and tugged his jacket tighter around himself (though whether because he was cold or to hold the grace, like a child hugging a teddy bear, he wasn't sure). "If everything else wasn't so fucked right now, I might say I feel good. _Really good_."

"But everything else is fucked," Castiel countered flatly.

Hearing an angel curse had to be high on Dean's list of awesome.

For a while, the two sat in comfortable, companionable silence. One that Dean eventually broke. "It's come in handy on hunts, too."

That made Castiel perk up a little, intrigued despite himself. "How has it done that?"

"Well… it outs demons. Suckers hair out soon as I come near them."

From the corner of his eye, Dean saw Castiel suddenly push back and sit up straight in the seat. "Demons can sense my grace in you?"

"I'd say so. Plus, I get these… feelings."

"Describe them."

"Not really sure how. I've always relied on my instincts as a hunter, but this feels like a _new_ instinct. I don't know how to describe it, but I just get these feelings." Dean spared a look over at Castiel and frowned when he saw the angel look… preoccupied. Maybe even a little troubled. "Is there a problem?"

"I don't know… perhaps the side-effects are nothing, but I can't know for certain that these changes my grace has made in you are harmless. I thought it would most likely be inert inside you, but clearly that is not the case." Castiel scowled into the darkness. "Perhaps I should remove it."

That made Dean sit up. "Hold up… so far everything it's done to me has been a _good_ thing." He wouldn't admit unless he had to that he _liked_ having a piece of Castiel's grace in him. Not unless it was wrung out of him on pain of death.

"But they're not normal."

"News flash, _I've_ never been normal. You still need a place for your grace as long as you're at war upstairs, so leave it right where it is in the Safe Deposit Bank of Dean Winchester."

Though Castiel looked uncertain, the raw necessity was obviously not lost on him. He reluctantly went back to sitting quietly in the passenger seat. It was sad how _right_ Castiel felt there these days and how _wrong_ Sam felt in the same place.

The two of them shared the front seat of the Impala all night. The wendigo never showed, but Dean didn't consider it a wasted night.

When Castiel vanished, Dean drove back to the motel to crash… ignoring the slight ache in his chest at no longer having the angel beside him.

To Be Continued…


	8. Chapter 8

"Dean…"

From that one word alone, Dean knew he wasn't going to like whatever Bobby Singer had to say. He would have liked nothing better than to ignore the older hunter, but two things made that pretty much impossible. One – Bobby was standing right next to him instead of talking to him over the phone. Two – Bobby was there helping them on a hunt that had proven more than the two Winchesters could handle, so he was kind of indebted to the guy… more than he usually was on a regular basis, anyway.

It didn't help that Dean and Sam were working together about as well as cats and dogs. It still made Dean's guts churn to work with Sam, the Soulless Wonder, but he had to think knowing where his brother was some of the time was less likely to drive him batshit crazy than not knowing _any_ of the time. That was the theory of the week, anyway… Dean was taking things week by week, sometimes day by day when Sam was really setting off all Dean's alarms.

They'd stumbled upon a hunt that was starting to look decidedly angelic… but not the good kind. It was a fucked up world where one had to differentiate between the good angels and the bad angels.

Dean's calls to Cas for help had gone unanswered. It worried the shit out of Dean, especially since he'd had a tight feeling in his chest for the better part of a week, but he refused to let himself think about what Castiel might be doing to keep him busy. That left finding out which angel they were dealing with to the poor humans, and no one had more obscure knowledge on everything supernatural than Bobby Singer. Besides which, the hunt happened to take them close to Bobby's… it was second nature to stop in and ask for some help.

Frankly, Dean felt relief getting to work with someone he _didn't_ think might sell him out for a soda, no matter how thirsty.

Sam was out at the library, digging through their old religious texts, while Dean and Bobby were poring through some of the old books Bobby got from Pastor Jim after Meg killed the padre. Dean was studying a drawing of the Archangel Michael, comparing it to the memory of his dreams of light-and-wind-Michael despite himself, when Bobby spoke.

"Yeah?" Dean asked warily.

"You remember when I griped you boys out about calling me with your complaints about the other?"

Dean stood upright immediately. "Hey now, Bobby… I haven't bugged you once about that since you read us the riot act…"

"It wasn't a _riot act_, it was some tough love, and you needed it. I'm not talking about _you_ this time, as it happens. I'm talking about Sam."

That made Dean frown. "Sam?"

"Yeah… kid's called me a few times in the last month or so about you."

"Why?"

"Says you've been acting weird."

Dean closed the book he'd been looking at with a snort. "Don't even try to make me believe he's worried."

"No," Bobby scoffed bitterly, "he ain't. Not _worried_, but he's damn curious, and I got from him you've been giving him the brush off whenever he tries to pin you down about what's going on with you."

"Well, hell, wouldn't you, Bobby? Fake Sam wants to have a heart to heart? I _don't_ think so." Just the idea made his stomach roll and bile burn the back of his throat. He hated not having his _brother_.

Sam didn't have any clue what was going on with his older brother, though not for a lack of trying. Sam had tried to get the truth out of Dean about what was 'up' with him by being upfront, but that was all kinds of not happening. Dean didn't trust his brother any farther than he could throw him, and given what a giant freak of nature Sam was, that wasn't very damn far.

No telling what the apocalypse-sowing angels would do if they found out Cas was hiding part of his grace in a puny human, and he wasn't leaving _that_ in the hands of a brother he couldn't trust.

"Truthfully, I don't blame you," Bobby said, "and I didn't appreciate Sam 'pumping me for information' like you were a case. Told him as much, too."

"Yeah… he's gotten pretty creepy with that. You should hear him talk to vics. And he used to say _I_ sucked at being sympathetic."

Bobby took off his trucker's cap long enough to scratch at his scalp before setting it back on his head. "Since it was coming from Sam 2.0, I more or less ignored him. Figured your problem was _his_ problem, the whole AWOL soul and all."

"It _is_ a big damn problem," Dean concurred, not sure what the hell this had to do with anything.

"Yeah, well, now that I've seen you myself, worked side by side with you… I gotta say, Sam's right."

Dean stiffened. "What do you mean?"

Bobby looked closely at Dean… too familiar and too sharp. "You _are_ different… can't really put my finger on _how_. Sam called it 'calm', but that's not it. More like… _stillness_."

Which sounded a hell of a lot like some very similar, _heavenly_ words: peaceful, serene, and a whole bunch of other shit that tough-as-nails Dean Winchester certainly was _not_.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"You got something you want to tell me, son? Something you don't want Sam knowing?" Bobby was standing close, looking at him kindly, looking all the surrogate father that Dean had always considered him to be.

And he _did _want to tell him… he really did. Bobby he could talk to, Bobby would _care_.

But that little voice in the back of his head still advised discretion. It was a huge secret that Dean was keeping, and it wasn't _his_ secret.

But Bobby deserved some kind of answer.

"Listen… I don't want Sam knowing about this, but I've kind of been helping Cas out with something lately."

Bobby's eyebrows rose. "That angel of yours? What's he got to do with you acting strange?"

Dean had to resist the temptation to rest a hand over his own chest where he could feel the angel's grace in him, comfortable and soft. "You know there's a war going on up there."

"Pretty damn hard not to."

"Well… I'm just doing him a favor."

That old hunter's suspicion kicked in and Bobby looked dubious.

"_Bobby_," Dean chided, "it's _Cas_. It's fine, but… don't tell Sam."

"And you're not going to tell me exactly what's going on?"

Dean winced. "No… not yet, anyway. But I'm fine, Bobby. Promise."

Bobby harrumphed and turned back to the books. "Uh huh… fine, you don't have to tell me, but don't come crying to me when it blows up in your face. Hell, who am I kidding… 'course you'll come crying to me. Idjit."

Dean smiled to himself and pulled another book from the stack. Even if Bobby didn't know any details, that he knew anything at all made Dean feel better. He wasn't on his own quite so much anymore… Dean never did do 'on his own' very well.

Of course, the press of warm contentment in his chest, even when it ached, was a constant reminder to Dean that he was never alone. Not anymore.

And the truth was, he'd gotten used to that too damn fast.

To Be Continued…


	9. Chapter 9

Turned out the angel they were dealing with was someone called Remiel, and he was a colossal asshat. The whole ten-gallon variety hat of assiness.

That was what Dean was thinking, anyway, as he stood between Bobby and Sam in the middle of a field, staring down the assmunch himself. Remiel was crammed into a bruiser of a vessel… dude must have been a bouncer before he was ribbed for Remiel's pleasure.

They had been in an abandoned apartment just a moment ago, where they'd been waiting for Remiel to show up (having gone to some pains to make sure the angel would put in an appearance). Dean's hair suddenly stood on end, his early angel warning system kicking into gear, but this time instead of a warm tingling his chest, he felt a cold fist squeeze at his insides. Then there he was, the dicklick himself, looking smug as he whisked the three hunters into the middle of nowhere.

"What the…" Bobby said in surprise as he tried to orient himself to their new location.

"That's better," Remiel said smugly. "Can't have you boys setting up banishing sigils for me, now can we?"

Which was exactly what they'd done in the apartment before Remiel showed up. What a distrustful bastard.

So the three good guys and one seriously more powerful bad guy finally got a really decent chance to size each other up.

Remiel's bulldog of a face twisted into a puzzled frown and he looked harder at the three hunters. His eyes settled on Dean and the confusion lifted into surprise. The kind of surprise a cat felt on sighting a wounded bird.

_Shit_.

"Now, _this_ is interesting. Raphael will definitely want to hear about this." Remiel moved closer, heading straight for Dean. Bobby tensed and Sam looked like he wanted a go at tearing an angel apart with his bare hands, but Dean stood his ground and kept his mouth shut.

Remiel stopped right in front of Dean, looked him up and down like a piece of meat, then smirked. "So, how long's this been going on, Dean? Let me guess… two months? Yes, that's about right. Castiel's been different since then… a much bigger nuisance to Raphael's plans."

"Right," Dean snarled, "the brilliant plan to restart the countdown to the Apocalypse."

"Hmmm," Remiel mused, like they were discussing stock tips. "I'd think you would be all for the Apocalypse getting back underway."

"And why would you think that?" With Remiel standing so close, Dean's insides felt like a nest of snakes, twisting nauseatingly.

Remiel shrugged. "Gates to Hell blown open, Lucifer out of his cage… you know what else will escape the cage, too?" He slid a look over at Sam. "Little darling Sammy's darling little soul. That _is_ what you want, right?"

"And what good is getting my soul back if there's no world left?" Sam countered.

"Picky, picky," Remiel sing-songed. He leaned in closer to Dean.

Dean's chest burned and heaved. "Dude," Dean groused with a wince, "you are a _seriously_ bad case of acid reflux."

Remiel smiled. "For such a transcendental experience, you describe it in a disgustingly _human_ way."

Dean could see Bobby and Sam both inching away from him, trying to sneak unnoticed to either side of the angel. He knew what they were doing and played his part.

"I could say the same about you jackholes… for angels, this is some damn human behavior. Betrayal, fighting each other, trashing the house while dad's gone… admit it, Remy, you and your pals up there are just as bad as the mud monkeys."

Predictably, Remiel flared. "How dare you compare us to _you_, you simpering, festering sore on the face of my Father's beautiful creation." The angel's anger shifted to condescension, and just like that he looked more snide than wrathful. It was hard to say which one made him look uglier. "But I guess _you'd_ know a thing or two about angels, wouldn't you, Dean? Does it feel good having Castiel inside you? Do you get off on it?"

Dean could see Sam falter from the corner of his eye.

The abrupt change in motion caught Remiel's attention, too. He shot a look over at Sam, who had a lighter in hand.

"Bobby!" Dean yelled.

Bobby, who was standing on the other side of the angel with a bottle of holy oil ready to throw.

Before Bobby's arm could let fly the liquid, Remiel opened his mouth.

"_Pitiful humans, you would dare to threaten me with your tricks! I will destroy you all for this impudence! Raphael's will shall reign in Heaven and on Earth and you will suffer!_" His words seemed to wrap up the sky.

It was a pretty unimpressive decree, as far as bad guy monologues went, but Dean stopped paying attention to the words pretty damn quick when Bobby and Sam both dropped the things they were holding to cover their ears with their hands.

Dean watched, stupefied, as Bobby and Sam both fell to their knees in agony. Blood trickled from between their fingers as they writhed on the ground.

While Dean stood there dumbly, watching his brother and friend suffer while Dean himself didn't feel so much as a tickle.

Without thinking, Dean's mind cried, '_Cas! Getting our asses handed to us by Remiel down here! Could use some help!_' The thought flew through his brain like a knee-jerk reaction, automatic and instantaneous.

Before Dean could process what was going on, there was a bright burst of _yes!_ in his chest, a flutter of air, and suddenly Castiel was standing behind Remiel looking decidedly smiteful.

Dean moved at once. He dove for the dropped bottle of holy oil by Bobby, just as Remiel sensed Castiel behind him.

In one fast motion, Dean leapt up with the bottle and upended the thing into Remiel's open mouth.

Castiel rushed up behind Remiel in the next split second, clamped his hand over the other angel's mouth to keep him from spitting out the oil, and bellowed, "Close your eyes!"

Dean leapt back. Sam and Bobby, still cradling their heads between blood-streaked hands, clenched their eyes shut.

Dean knew he should have, but he didn't. He stepped back and watched, wide-eyed, as Castiel snaked his free hand around to touch Remiel's throat and used his power to ignite the holy oil inside the dickhead.

Remiel seized and his body went rigid. Castiel let him go and moved a step away. Remiel's eyes burned bright with angelic light, he threw his head back, and suddenly there was _light_. Light, brighter than anything Dean had ever seen. He'd never imagined a light so bright. It flared for half a second like twenty thousand suns… he felt it tingle on his skin like a summer's sun, only this light went deeper. It touched Castiel's grace in his chest and made Dean flinch and bring a hand to his sternum.

Then the light changed, grew and took up half the sky. Inside its immensity were colors, prisms and threads of every color in the spectrum and then some.

And then, for just the briefest instant, Dean imagined he saw a figure. Features. He saw _an angel_.

Then the light was gone with a blast and Remiel's vessel fell to the ground, burned to a crisp.

Dean blinked, dazed and in a stupor. He felt like he'd been hit by a bus. He stared agape at Castiel a few feet away. The angel was looking back at Dean with a look of equal surprise on his face. Dean knew that by all rights he shouldn't see anything at all. His eyes should be black holes in his head.

No telling how long Dean might have stood there staring in open wonder at Castiel if Sam hadn't struggled to his feet. He was _so_ not happy. "What… the… _fuck_!" he barked, practically yelling.

"You couldn't have gotten here just a little sooner?" Bobby asked testily as he fought his way back to his feet. He was talking too loud, couldn't hear himself and how loud he was being after his eardrums had taken an angelic beating. The sides of his head were streaked with blood, just like Sam's. The two of them scowled at Castiel for not sparing them that pain, then they looked in unison at Dean… standing there unbloodied.

So not getting into _that_ right then.

Dean looked straight at Cas, offered a lopsided smile, and said, "Nice of you to drop by."

The surprised look on Castiel's face was masterfully replaced by his typical deadpan expression… except for a very tiny smile in return as he nodded back at Dean.

To Be Continued…


	10. Chapter 10

Just because he didn't have a soul didn't mean Sam couldn't have a temper tantrum, and when Castiel transported them back to their motel rooms, Sam had himself a doozy. He wanted answers, he wanted them last week, damnit, and he was going to have a go at being louder than Remiel to get them. Bobby fled to his own room while the brothers went at each other, Castiel standing back and watching the exchange darkly.

Dean didn't give Sam any of the answers he wanted. Didn't give his brother any answers, in fact. When Sam was just about to boil over in his anger, Dean finally snapped, "Think whatever the hell you want, Sam! I'm not going to stand here and be interrogated, and not by _you_ of all people, because I've seen what you're willing to do to get the answers you want!"

Animalistic fury glittered dangerously in robo-Sam's eyes. "That's rich! _You_ talking to _me_ about torture!"

Talking about Dean's stint in Hell was the last straw.

Dean stormed out of the room, got in the car, and peeled out, speeding off into the night. He didn't even think about the fact Castiel hadn't left the room with him and yet turned up in the passenger seat of the Impala before Dean even reached the car. He just drove.

After he'd put enough distance between himself and his creepy empty shell of a brother, Dean pulled the Impala over to the shoulder and turned the car off. He threw open the driver's side door, got out, and just started walking.

He wasn't far from the Impala when he looked up and saw Castiel standing up ahead, waiting.

Dean came to a stop alongside the angel and sighed.

"Do you feel better now?" Castiel asked.

"Not really, but I couldn't look at him one more second or I was going to pull out my gun, I swear." He raked his hands through his hair in frustration.

Castiel's features were heavily shadowed in the stark light of the street lamp as he studied Dean closely. With a frown, Castiel took a step closer to Dean.

It worked. Dean felt Castiel's proximity like a warm spot on a bleak winter day. He took in a deep breath and felt a little calmer when he exhaled. He closed his eyes, took a moment to bask in the tumbling feeling of ease in his chest, then he looked over at Castiel. The angel looked rough around the edges, like he had been looking for two months. His stubble looked darker and…

Dean chuckled.

"What?" Castiel asked with a tilt of his head.

"You need a haircut."

Castiel looked up, as if he could see his own hair. "With as little attention as I've been paying to my human form lately, it seems to have defaulted to its natural way of functioning."

"Better watch it or you'll be taking a crap like everyone else before you know it."

For a moment, Castiel looked gravely concerned about that. "I hope not. That seems very unsanitary."

"Yeah, well, better out than in," Dean answered. "Speaking of full of shit, who the hell was that bouncer angel, anyway?"

The word 'bouncer' seemed to throw Castiel for a second. "Remiel is one of Raphael's primary commanders in the war in Heaven. He does much of Raphael's dirty work on Earth. I'd been tracking him for weeks, but he is remarkably gifted at masking his whereabouts. If I had not heard you, I might not have gotten to you in time."

To forestall an angel guilt-trip, Dean said hastily, "But you did… that's all that matters." Dean pursed his lips as something else about the whole mess with Remiel occurred to him. "That was Remiel's true voice, wasn't it? What knocked Sam and Bobby on their asses."

"Yes," Castiel answered soberly.

"It didn't affect me."

Castiel looked long and hard at Dean without saying a word.

"And when you ganked him, everything I saw… that was his true form, right?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed peevishly. "I warned you to close your eyes. You should have listened. You could have been badly damaged. You didn't know you would be safe from injury."

"But I was."

Castiel made a consternated face. "My grace clearly allowed you to safely see and hear the true Remiel." Castiel's eyes drifted down to Dean's chest and lingered there, as if staring through bone and muscle to the offending chunk of grace.

For some reason, it made Dean want to curl protectively around the nestled ball of heat and light inside him. As it was, he crossed his arms over his chest. A tad defensive, Dean asked, "Why don't you look like that's a good thing?"

"I fear the presence of my grace could be altering you."

'Or fixing me,' Dean thought to himself. Except not so much. Castiel caught the thought and his eyes jerked up to Dean's. Busted. The angel cocked his head in question.

This was getting into serious chick flick territory that Dean would desperately like to avoid, but how the hell would he go about outrunning an angel?

"Look, Cas… when you pulled me out of Hell and put me back together, all my scars and everything might have been gone, but there was still something broken. You know… _really broken_."

"Readjusting was difficult for you," Castiel observed gently.

"Try damn near impossible. But since you… I don't feel broken anymore. This," he touched his chest, "whatever it's done to me, it's the first time I haven't felt like filleted shit inside. And whatever freaky side-effects that might come with, well I'll take them."

The angel didn't look too thrilled with that.

"Okay, then. Let's make this real simple. Is the civil war in Heaven over?" Dean asked pointedly.

"No."

"Do you still need to save your grace?"

For a second, Castiel hesitated. The answer seemed almost painful to get out of him. "Yes."

"Then discussion's over, so we don't need to talk it to death."

Castiel let out a hard breath and canted his head back, eyes turned skyward. Dean had to laugh at the idea that _he_ could make an angel do the 'Heaven help me' look.

"Regrettable things," Castiel muttered.

"The only one who regrets me holding on to your grace is you," Dean pointed out, and he hated that he sounded kind of pouty even to his own ears.

Castiel looked back down at Dean, his eyes suddenly very intense. "I don't regret you being the receptacle for my grace. There is no being on Earth or in Heaven I trust more than you."

A lump totally did _not_ form in Dean's throat.

"But if you were to be transformed, in any sense, into anything less than Dean Winchester because of my actions…"

"Dude, ask anyone, Dean Winchester could do with some transforming influence." And if he was transformed, it couldn't be into something less. The only way Dean had to go was up… he could only become more. Hell didn't leave anything left to be subtracted from.

The angel huffed out a forceless chuckle, more surrender than amusement.

Dean smiled. "The word you're looking for is 'incorrigible'." Part of him missed Sam, his real brother, who would have teased Dean for using an SAT word, but he didn't linger on the ache of that.

For a minute, Dean and Castiel stood quietly together, the looks they traded exchanging volumes. In a way, they were both warriors. In a way, both were hunters. For all the difference in dialect, their languages were very much the same, despite one being an angel and the other a mere human. Or maybe it was just that Dean and Castiel had come to know each other well enough to speak without words.

Honestly, Dean could have stayed there all night. Being near Cas intensified everything good that the grace inside him made him feel, and the alternative was going back to deal with Sam. Cas's company was _definitely_ preferable.

"I feel the same," Castiel said lowly, the near-whisper somehow intimate, "but I need to go."

"Yeah, sure… angel civil war."

"Will you be all right?"

Dean gave Castiel a queer look. He'd never asked that before. Dean could only assume that it stemmed from Castiel's new worry that the grace Dean was carrying was doing something to him. The look in Castiel's eyes was one of genuine worry for Dean's well-being.

Though completely unnecessary, it was nice to have someone worry about him. Because Sam sure as hell didn't anymore.

"You just watch your feathery ass," Dean threw back with a lopsided smile.

Castiel almost managed to mimic the expression before he disappeared.

To Be Continued…


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: This chapter will probably be the last one for a couple of weeks… next week SierraPhoenix and I will be driving to Los Angeles for the SPN convention. The weather around here's been shitty lately, so point some good vibes our way! If anyone knows Mother Nature, ask her to knock off the ice and snow until we make it to the west coast :)

* * *

Dean returned to the motel to find an empty room, and he hated just how relieved he was that Sam wasn't there. Still…

He went to the next room over and knocked on the door. When Bobby opened it, he scowled at Dean. "Wondered when you'd turn up." With only that to clue Dean in, Bobby turned and headed inside.

Dean followed after him, closing the door just as he asked, "Sam was here?"

"Bet your ass he was. Boy blew in here like a freaking tornado right after you and your angel ran off, demanding answers of me."

"But you don't know anything," Dean pointed out as he took a seat at the room's small table.

"And I _told_ Sam that," Bobby snapped, sounding just as annoyed about the fact as he was by Sam's attitude, "but he didn't want to hear it."

"Where is he now?" Dean truly didn't want to ask, mostly didn't _want_ to know, but he was still the older brother, damnit. It was hardwired in him to look out for Sam. Sam might be able to not care, but Dean couldn't help himself. He cared. He cared just enough to be miserable every time he was in the same room with Sam.

"I don't know. When he realized he wasn't getting anything useful out of me he took off. Hope he's not doing anything stupid."

"Yeah, me too," Dean grumbled.

Bobby sighed and went to the side of the bed and sat down, looking over the table at Dean. Dean cocked his head expectantly. Bobby looked toward the small refrigerator, probably considering the worth of busting into the beer he'd stashed there. If he did, Dean was _definitely_ going to partake.

"Wasn't just looking for answers Sam did while he was in here. He floated a few theories of his own, too." Bobby stopped and slid a very guarded, cautious look at Dean.

Instinctively, Dean's back stiffened. He _so_ was not going to like this.

"You should know Sam's come to the conclusion that you and that angel of yours are screwing each other."

"_What_?" Just as well he hadn't been nursing a beer, because at that moment he would have spit it everywhere.

Bobby shrugged, but he didn't look nearly as scandalized as he rightly should by such an accusation.

That fact made Dean narrow his eyes at Bobby. "Is that what _you_ think, too?"

Silence.

"_Bobby_?"

"Well, you gotta admit, Dean… the things that angel Remiel said," Bobby opened his hands, "it's not hard to follow the bread crumbs there." And the patent 'angels lie' rejoinder Dean might have blurted out didn't have quite the same ring to it that 'demons lie' had.

Dean dropped his head into his hands with a groan. His life totally, completely _sucked_.

"Sam mentioned Castiel saying you and the angel had some kind of 'profound bond'." If _that_ wasn't fishing for details, Dean would eat his boots.

"Oh, _come on_… that was… he just meant…" Dean gestured feebly. "Cas and I have been through a lot together, that's all he was saying."

When Bobby just looked steadily at Dean, the younger hunter rambled on. "So what if I actually ended up liking the guy? We're _friends_, Bobby. What, I can't spend time with anyone outside you and Sam?"

"No need to get your underwear in a knot. You can spend time with anybody you want."

"Right."

"Right."

Bobby sat there awkwardly a moment, cleared his throat, then said, "Just want you to know, Dean, if you and Castiel _were_… well, I'd be okay with that."

The surprise of that took Dean aback a second. Of all the things he would have expected out of Bobby Singer's mouth… "Really?"

"I mean, would I feel better if he was a _human_, sure, but the fact that he's got the same plumbing as you doesn't… and what you boys do in the privacy of your own bed…" Bobby was starting to turn red. If the conversation wasn't so mortifying, Dean might have laughed. "All I'm saying is, I won't love you any less because you're gay, son."

Dean leaned forward and let his forehead hit the tabletop. "Unbelievable." Who would have thought helping to roast an angel would be the _least_ strange part of his night?

He lifted his head up and looked at Bobby. The old hunter looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but having this conversation. Dean was in full agreement.

"Listen, Bobby… not that I don't think you're awesome for being supportive of… well, _you know_, you can hold off hanging up a gay pride flag in the salvage yard."

"So, you and Castiel aren't…"

He didn't want to tell Bobby the truth – for all the same reasons he hadn't told Bobby before when he was asking – but at this point _not_ telling him was tantamount to feeding him a lie. He had too much respect for Bobby to do that.

Dean leaned forward and said lowly, "Things upstairs are really hairy for Cas right now, and he needed an insurance policy."

Bobby's eyes glinted darkly under his cap. Dean could tell Bobby didn't like where this was going. "Go on," Bobby growled. The growl was his second clue they were heading into unhappy Singer land.

"I'm keeping a part of Castiel's grace."

Suspicion was wrapping Bobby up in a huge angry look. It had nothing on John Winchester, but it was pretty damn scary in its own right. "Keeping it _where_?"

Dean patted his chest.

It took only a second for Bobby to figure that out. When he did, he drew back like Dean had yakked on the table. "Damnit, kid! What in the hell made you agree to that?"

"You should have seen him, Bobby. Cas was getting the crap beat out of him."

"And how in the hell does putting part of him inside _you_ help _him_?"

"If a part of his grace is kept clean, he can fight dirtier up there and still recover. Apparently doing wrong stains angels."

If Dean was hoping for understanding, he didn't get it. Bobby stood up, furious. "When I get my hands on him, I'll wring his scrawny angel neck! How could he do that to you?" Bobby made a frustrated sound. "Why couldn't you just have been gay? I'd prefer that to _this_."

"Hey! I asked him to do it… he didn't want to. Hell, I had to talk him into it." He'd disregard the gay comment for now. Bigger fish and all that. Dean frowned. "Why are you so upset about this?"

"Because you know what this sounds like to me? A deal. The same deals you Winchesters have been making for years that put your asses in a sling again and again."

Dean stood abruptly… so fast he knocked over the chair he'd been using. "This is _not_ a deal, Bobby. Don't you compare Castiel to a damn crossroads demon. In case you hadn't noticed, Cas is the _good guy_, and he's fighting a _war_ up there for _us_."

"And he's put you smack dab in the middle of it, just when you boys were finally _out_ of it."

"I put _myself_ in the middle of it. Cas is in it waist deep, then so am I. That's how it works, Bobby."

Bobby gave Dean a look that the younger hunter could not place for the life of him. Dean almost asked, but he decided he might not really want to know what was going through Bobby's head.

Then Bobby shook his head and paced for a while. Dean stood back and let him. He wouldn't feel bad about what he'd done for Cas. He _wouldn't_. Nothing Bobby could say would make Dean regret what he was doing for Castiel.

Finally, Bobby was calm enough to look at Dean and say, "So this grace has made you invincible to angel mojo?"

"Kind of, I guess. I didn't bleed out my ears when Remiel spoke, and I… when Cas ganked him, I didn't close my eyes like he told us to. I saw Remiel's true form, and I still have my eyes."

With a weary sigh, Bobby said, "Peachy. Well, since it's too late to talk you out of this stupid plan, what are you going to tell Sam? Because he figures you've gone all super-Dean from Castiel shooting you full of angel cream."

"Eww!"

Undaunted, Bobby continued, "I'm guessing you have a reason for not telling him the truth before."

"Yeah…" Dean growled, "the reason being Sam's not my brother. He might look like him, but there's nothing in there that's anything close to the old Sam, to _my_ Sam. This is important to Cas, and I can't trust Sam with knowing what I'm doing." Dean smiled sourly, because it was either that or break something. "Truth is, sometimes I think the only reason Sam's still hanging around hunting with me at all is because of the angel advantage I've got." Dean let his expression shift to a smirk, and it was only a little self-satisfied… maybe thirty percent, thirty-five tops. "Cas very rarely answers when Sam calls for him."

Bobby snorted.

"You can't tell Sam, either."

"I won't… but you'll have to tell him _something_. Us humans get hammered when an angel unleashes their goods, and you _didn't_."

That was an ugly fact, and Bobby was right about Dean needing an explanation for why it hadn't done the same to him.

Dean knew the answer long before he would acknowledge it. He tried to beat it back, but the damn thing kept climbing up from the depths of Dean's twisted mind until it was flashing him its naughty bits.

Finally, he broke.

"Shit…" Dean breathed through clenched teeth.

"What?"

"Can't believe I'm doing this, but…" Dean looked up at Bobby piteously. "If Sam's convinced the changes he's noticed in me are because Cas and I… well," Dean steeled himself, "_let_ Sam believe it."

Bobby's look of surprise matched Dean's sense of dread.

"You're gonna lead Sam to believe you and Castiel actually are bumping uglies?"

"Geez, Bobby, what are you, twelve? And… yeah. I can't think of another way to throw him off the trail. He can't find out about Cas stashing a piece of his grace in my ribcage, so… unless you've got something better."

Part of him secretly hoped Bobby had a brilliant plan that would blow Dean's out of the water. Instead, all he got was a grunt and a shrug. "Hmmm… well, on the bright side, shouldn't be too hard to pull off."

"Do I even want to know?" Dean asked tensely.

"Just that you and that angel of yours… sometimes, honestly, I wondered myself."

For a second all Dean could do was gape at Bobby. The old hunter just offered a conciliatory smile.

"Okay, this is officially the most surreal conversation with you I've ever had," Dean groused, "and there have been some really fucking weird ones."

Having had about enough for one day, Dean bid his farewell to Bobby and headed for the door to get some shut-eye in his own room. If he was lucky, a meteor would fall out of the sky and put him out of his misery.

Just before he opened the door, though, Bobby called out, "Dean?"

"Yeah?" He was almost afraid to listen.

"So… Sam's completely off base on this one? I mean, nothing's ever happened between you and the angel?"

How Dean wanted to blurt out 'no, of course not', but he remembered in that same instant _how_ he'd gotten Castiel's grace inside him in the first place. That damn kiss. It made his face flush and any denial he would have come up with then would sound and look faked. Bobby could read Dean too fucking well for that. All he could do in reply was scowl.

Which Bobby read just as well, too, that bastard who was like a father to him.

The totally accepting and understanding twinkle in Bobby's eye hurried Dean out of the room all the quicker.

Bobby Singer all for gay love… who knew?

To Be Continued…


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: I'm baaaaack! The SPN con was awesome… I met some really cool people and of course got to see the Boys, but I have to say the two highlights for me were getting to hug Misha (twice! Squeee!) and the Jensen Ackles and Jason Manns jam session. *remembers dreamily*

Now back to the fic, for which you have all waited so patiently… or maybe not so patiently ;)

* * *

Dean was a little annoyed at how easy it was to make Sam believe that him and Cas were totally gay for each other.

"For the record," Sam had said, breaking a sullen silence that lasted for the better part of an hour while they drove, "you didn't have to hide it from me. You can fuck whoever you want to, Dean. I don't care."

"And with a sunny attitude like that, I can't imagine _why_ I didn't tell you."

That was pretty much the end of it, and while it was a thorn in Dean's side to go along with the charade that he was Castiel's mud monkey lover, it _did_ get Sam off his back, and _that_ was a load off.

That was pretty much the only good news in a string of letdowns. The quest to resoul Sam was getting nowhere, the monsters were still collectively drinking from the special kool-aid, and the jackassery of Samuel Campbell just amped up and up the more Dean got to know him. All that, and there was no contact from Cas for weeks. That might not have bothered Dean so much if it wasn't for the agitated feeling in his chest that he was convinced meant things were really rough up there for Castiel. When the not knowing became unbearable, Dean would call out for Castiel to show up for an 'I'm not dead' visit, but the angel was a no-show. Dean was getting worried, and apparently it made him short-tempered. Not that Dean noticed himself… not until Sam snapped at him. "Just because you have gotten any from your angel boyfriend in a while, it's no reason to bitch at me!"

Which was _absolutely_ not the case, but Dean did clam up after that and tended to stew silently instead of heckle and hound the closest target… namely, Sam.

He might not say anything about it, but the longer the disquieted feeling in his chest persisted, and the more time that passed without Dean hearing from Castiel, the more he worried about the angel.

* * *

They were somewhere in the Midwest, and Dean was having a nightmare.

Dean was in Hell again, being tortured. He was on the rack, splayed open. His guts were everywhere but where they should be, but he _would not die_. He screamed and choked on his own blood.

The figure holding the knife circled him, all shadow and the gleam of the blade.

Dean coughed to clear his throat. His lungs were long gone, so no telling how he could draw breath, but he drew one. Then he cried, "_Sam_!" His Hell-borne mantra, a word he'd screamed so many times it went from a plea for salvation to a curse to senseless sound.

"_Sam_!"

The dark figure stopped circling and stepped toward Dean. Stepped into the fiery light. Lit up features so familiar and eyes utterly void of life.

"Right here, Dean," his tormenter answered. With a vicious smile, Sam hefted the blade for another slice.

Dean lurched away from the attack and woke himself with a start as he nearly threw himself off the bed. He gasped for air while he braced himself on one elbow, angled face-down just in case he threw up. It was a distinct possibility; his stomach was swimming with nausea.

When he was pretty sure he wasn't going to hurl, after the room stopped heaving and spinning, Dean lifted one hand and wiped the sweat from his eyes.

Then he looked toward the dark corner of the room. A figure stood in the shadows, light barely touching the sharp angles of his face as he stared silently at Dean in the dead of night.

Still entangled in the distress of his dream, Dean's reaction wasn't very friendly. "Damnit, Cas… haven't I told you that's creepy?" he growled, his voice raw and gravelly.

Castiel stepped closer to the bed, the light picking up the outlines of coat and shoulders. Castiel's face was grim and severe.

Dean pushed himself up to a sitting position and peered in Castiel's direction. "What are you doing here?"

Nothing.

Dean's annoyance dissipated, making way for concern. "You okay?"

The angel didn't answer. He just moved closer to the bed. Without a word, Castiel walked right up to the bed and sat down on the side opposite Dean.

The creep-factor of Castiel watching Dean sleep forgotten, Dean studied Castiel a moment. "What's wrong?" Dean's chest was beginning to hum pleasantly in response to Castiel's presence… but it had been a slow burn. Never before had the effect of Cas being close needed time to warm up before Dean felt it. Never had Castiel's arrival _preceded_ Dean feeling it in his borrowed grace. He didn't know what that meant, but it couldn't be good.

Castiel huffed out a short breath, but it left him no more relaxed afterward. He sat stiffly, almost curled like he was wounded.

Dean reached out and rested a hand on Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel jerked away, body tensing like a dog on the ragged edge of lashing out and biting.

"Hey…" Dean said gently, sliding closer. "Cas? Come on, man… it's okay. You're okay." Which might have been a complete lie, but Dean was just trying to speak calmly and soothingly.

It felt like an hour before anything changed. Cas sat taut and radiating dark, angry things while Dean (in boxer briefs and a t-shirt cooling in the night from drying sweat) sat behind him, watching and waiting with bated breath for Castiel to _do_ something… _say_ something.

Finally, _at last_, Castiel croaked, "Dean…"

"Yeah, Cas. I'm right here."

Castiel took in a stuttering breath that _looked_ painful. The angel lifted his chin and closed his eyes wearily.

Dean inched closer. "What?"

"I almost… I think I almost lost myself."

A chill went down Dean's spine. "But you didn't," Dean reassured. "You're right here with me."

"How can I ever be redeemed?" Castiel asked, and he sounded so fucking _broken_ that Dean wanted to hug him. _Shit_.

It might not have been a question asked of Dean, but Dean spoke anyway, "Hey, if _I_ can be a 'righteous man' after the life I've led, you don't have anything to worry about. You're going to be fine."

"I don't know…" Cas's voice faded.

Dean tapped two fingers against his sternum. "_I_ do."

Castiel turned on the mattress to better face Dean and gaze at him. It was disconcerting, almost enough to make Dean squirm. Slowly, Castiel's eyes dropped to where Dean still lightly rested two fingers against his chest. There Cas's gaze held even longer.

Without warning, Castiel reached for him, gathered the hem of Dean's shirt in both hands, and lifted. Too surprised to resist, Dean raised his arms and let Cas strip him of his shirt.

In the next moment, Castiel's hand was on Dean's bare chest. The skin on skin contact made Dean gasp at the unexpected intensity it triggered. The grace in his chest was flaring, filling him until his skin didn't seem big enough to contain it.

Slowly, traces of peace began to steal over Castiel's face as he stared down at his hand splayed on Dean's chest. Dean breathed heavily, certain the grace would burst out of him any moment, but he held still because _damn_ did it look like it was the only thing holding Cas together.

Castiel finally seemed to notice the physical reaction he was causing in Dean and started to move away. Oh hell no. Dean clamped down on Castiel's hand with his own, trapping it against his chest and preventing Castiel from going anywhere. Dean had no idea what was going on in him, but he could see that Cas needed this.

Castiel basked in being so near to his unmarred grace. Bit by bit, he scooted closer until Dean and Cas were thigh to thigh. If he had a mind to, Dean could have dropped his forehead onto Castiel's shoulder. Not that it was tempting. Not in the least.

Stiff muscles were what told Dean just how long they sat like that, though he was loathe to do anything to break the contact between them.

"You have to go?" Dean asked in a whisper.

"Not just yet."

"Then get in the bed."

Castiel's eyes flew up to Dean's in the darkness. Maybe it was the darkness that made Dean brave enough to say it. Whatever, he didn't care. He just didn't want Castiel to leave him. That moment was the first time in too long when the grace in him hadn't felt like one big ache.

It must have been a respite for Castiel, too, because this time he didn't argue. He withdrew his hand (to Dean's silent chagrin) and stood. Then he started to undress.

Dean's eyes widened.

At the look on Dean's face, Castiel froze with his trench coat halfway off. "Do you… will this upset you?"

"Huh?"

"I need– want… the closer I can be…" Castiel got a look on his face like someone kicked his puppy. "I'm sorry," Castiel grumbled as he started to pull the coat back on. "I have overstepped."

"No." Dean was probably about as surprised as Castiel by that outburst. But he didn't take it back. "It's okay."

For a moment, Castiel just looked down at Dean, measuring his honesty. Then he sagged and let his trench coat drop to the floor. "Thank you, Dean."

He thanked Dean like it was all for Castiel's benefit... as if Dean didn't need it just as much.

Castiel undressed down to his underwear (maybe copying Dean's sleep attire) before he got under the covers with Dean. Dean laid down on the bed, flat on his back, unsure what to do. Castiel was lying on his side facing Dean, and those last few inches separating them seemed the most difficult to bridge. Dean just lay there feeling the distance between their bodies like a fucking canyon, but damned if he didn't know quite how to fix it.

Mercifully, Castiel made the first move. His hand, like before, found its way to rest atop Dean's chest, lingering above his grace. The tide of relief it sent through Dean loosened muscles he didn't even know were tight.

Dean flipped on to his side so he was facing Cas. Castiel's hand stayed firmly in place on Dean's chest, as if unable to bear leaving that spot. Dean lay quietly as he looked closely at the angel barely six inches from him. Cas looked almost like a different person, his features so drawn and hard. Once, Dean would have found it hard to picture adorable, innocent Castiel as a soldier… not anymore. It made Dean's chest ache, and he was pretty sure it wasn't just the Cas part inside of him.

He slid an arm up and around Castiel's side, just happening to draw their two bodies closer together in the process. His fingers walked the smooth, bare skin of Castiel's shoulder. Cas looked questioningly into his eyes.

"Wondered if my stitches left a scar," Dean explained. Yeah… that was the _only_ reason his hand was back there. Because they were totally _not_ snuggling.

"I scar differently than you do," Castiel answered softly, and as he spoke his hand on Dean's chest slid up to Dean's shoulder, where the angel fitted his fingers over the handprint scar on Dean's shoulder. It might have been intended to make a point, but all it accomplished was making Dean shiver.

"You rescued me from Hell, you know," Dean quipped.

"I was there… it's not something I'm likely to ever forget."

Dean chuckled. "No, I mean, just now. I was dreaming."

"Oh." Castiel didn't have anything else to say to that. He did shift a tad closer to Dean. When he resettled, they were so close they could feel each other's breath, and Castiel's hand had repositioned from Dean's shoulder to his side. Dean understood now what Cas had been saying about being close… it felt like they were pulling together, like the grace in Dean was trying to reach out and rejoin with the grace in Castiel. Without layers of clothes to separate them, it was even stronger. The grace that _was_ Cas and the piece of angel in Dean were two parts of a whole, after all, and for clothes to come between them seemed unnatural. Dean figured he should probably be freaking out about that, but he chose not to. The feeling of connection, of being bound to the other, was wildly comforting.

Which reminded Dean…

"Uh… just so you know, Sam thinks we're having sex."

That made Castiel's face screw. "Why would he think that?"

"I sort of told him we were."

"I see." A completely unreadable pause. "Why?"

Confession time. "It was that or tell him the truth about your grace tucked away in me, which didn't seem like a smart idea, all things considered." Dean braced himself. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" Castiel sounded sleepy, which was doing weird things to Dean's insides.

"Just… I know religion's not very approving of _that_, so I'm sorry for involving you in it, even if it is just a ruse to throw Sam off the scent."

If anything, the angel only looked more baffled. "I don't understand. What exactly is it you think I would consider my involvement in abominable?"

"You know… _homosexuality_," Dean whispered it like a grade school kid learning to cuss for the first time. Or in Dean's case, kindergarten, but whatever.

Expression shifting from confused to irritated, Castiel burrowed closer to Dean, the harbor of his grace. "God's love and _humanity's interpretation_ of God's love are two entirely different things."

"Oh… so, two dudes or two chicks together isn't a one-way ticket to Hell?"

Castiel made a scornful sound. "Don't you think there are more fitting reasons to condemn a soul to eternal damnation than for _loving someone_?"

"Yeah…" Dean felt himself relaxing (he didn't realize he'd been so concerned about Castiel's reaction to the lie he'd been telling Sam until Castiel mocked him for it). "Yeah, whenever I saw two women together, I couldn't understand why anyone would be against it."

Castiel almost chuckled. "You shouldn't be so narrow-minded, Dean. God doesn't hate or fear how people love… _people_ do. If He didn't approve of it, He wouldn't have made it part of you. You _are_ made in His image."

That sounded so much better, that settled in his bones so _right_… more so than all that hateful crap religious nuts liked to spout. "Wait, so is God gay?"

The only answer Dean got was Castiel making an exasperated noise against his collar bone.

Dean smiled to himself and started to fall back to sleep.

He knew he wouldn't dream of Hell this time.

To Be Continued…


	13. Chapter 13

Dean didn't see Cas again for five days, and they were an agonizing, unbearable five days. Dean liked to think he had a good gut instinct for things, and his gut (and his chest) was telling him that the shit was really getting deep upstairs.

Sam was utterly useless when it came to being sympathetic or comforting. He was, however, royally pissed at how distracted Dean became. And that, at least, was true (even though Sam could be a little more considerate about it). Dean was unable to push to the background the throb of dread that filled up his chest. It trickled down to his gut and took up residence; he hadn't been eating much for days. He wasn't sleeping for shit, either… he had nightmares about Cas fighting to get to him when he was in Hell, Cas fighting Lucifer, Cas fighting the other angels, Cas fighting the fucking Cookie Monster... Cas fighting the whole damn universe enough to wake Dean at all hours.

Sam accused him (in a thoroughly disgusted tone) of pining for Castiel. Dean told Sam to go screw himself… admittedly not the healthiest way to address the issue, but Dean was about as agreeable as a bear with a migraine. Of course, Sam thought Dean and Castiel were making the beast with two backs… and two wings. Whatever. But it was troubling because Dean had had friends – hell, _family_ – in the thick of a battle before, and he'd managed to push it to the back of his mind enough to get his job done. But this was different. This time, there was a link connecting him to Cas, and it was not going to be dismissed and pushed aside.

When Samuel contacted them about a possible lead on some big time demons, Sam couldn't wait to bail on Dean. He'd had it with his brother, the walking liability, and having no soul to stop him, he jumped at the chance to walk out and leave Dean behind.

And Dean didn't even try to stop him. He was going through some shit, and it was even worse suffering through _whatever_ he was suffering through and butting heads with his alien brother at the same time. He just sat sourly as Sam grabbed up his stuff and left with Samuel.

Then the silence became stifling. He had no idea silence could be so freaking _loud_. He tried to call for Castiel a couple of times, but he didn't get anything… not that he'd expected an answer. If he felt so awful, fair bet to say Cas was busy.

Not knowing who else to talk to, Dean called Bobby.

"Hello," Bobby answered, already sounding weary.

"Before you jump down my throat about calling to complain," Dean hastened, "I just want to make it clear this is _not_ about Sam."

"Yeah, _right_." Bobby sighed. But when he spoke again, his voice was gentler, "So, what's wrong with Castiel?"

Dean forced a smirk, but it even _felt_ mangled. Good thing Bobby wasn't actually there to see it. "How do you know it's him?"

"Boy… don't treat me like I don't know you. Used to be the only time you called was if it was about Sam. Now it's either about Sam or your angel, and since you led in with 'this isn't about Sam', only one choice left."

It felt good just to talk to someone who gave a fuck. Dean closed his eyes and his brow knit. "I have a really bad feeling he's in trouble."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"About five, six days ago."

"Not too out of the ordinary for him, is it? How do you know you're not just letting your imagination get the better of you?"

If only. Dean grimaced. "I'm telling you, Bobby… he's not doing so good. I've got a feeling… a _grace_ kind of feeling."

"Oh…" Bobby replied, sounding uneasy. "Dean… I have to be honest, it really bothers me that you can sense shit like that through that chunk of angel grace in you. It's not natural."

"I know you don't like it, so can we just skip the lecture part?" Dean growled.

"All right, all right… no reason to bite my head off, boy."

Dean sagged. "Sorry… guess I've been a little testy lately."

A beat. "Where's Sam?"

"He finally got sick of me. Took off with Samuel this morning."

There was a pause where Dean could just picture Bobby's expression. A mixed bag of disappointment, anger, sorrow, and resignation. Story of Dean's life.

"Have you picked up on anything, by chance, that could give us a _hint_ of what's going on up there with the angels?" Dean asked miserably.

"Sorry, kid. If I wanted a go to person for getting a look behind the curtain to the angel scene, I'd go to you. If you say things are bad right now, then you know more than I do."

"Right." Dean rubbed at his eyes. Fuck, he was tired. "I'm worried about him, Bobby."

"I know you are. But no matter what happens to him, you're holding his backup plan, right? I mean, huge mistake or not, you've got him covered. So he can't _not_ be all right."

"The grace I'm holding can mend his when it's all over, but what if he _dies_ up there? Then what? When I was grilling him on the details of this grace hideaway thing, he said his could grow back from the bit I've got, but I wouldn't have the first clue how to do that!" He should have asked for a grace maintenance manual.

"Look, Dean… I don't have any answers for you. Wish I did. But before you go off the deep end freaking out, wait and see what happens. Castiel could be fine. And if he's not – God forbid, if he's _dead_ – then we'll figure it out from there. It's what we're good at, right?"

Dean felt cold down to his bones. "He's not dead," Dean ground out vehemently. "I'd _know_." He was certain he would. "But yeah, okay… no panicking. Got it."

"Hang in there, kiddo. And call me if you find out anything."

"I will… thanks, Bobby."

To Be Continued…


	14. Chapter 14

The frenzied distress in his chest eased off gradually over the next few days and instead settled into something almost as bad. Dread… thick, stalking, overbearing dread. Like the sick anticipation the seconds before a dislocated shoulder was wrenched back into place. Like a final in a class in high school Dean had missed too many classes of because of a hunt to have any hope of passing, those last fateful steps leading him to dropping out. Like standing at the bus stop with Sam and waiting for that ride that would carry him off to California.

Something big was coming.

Dean couldn't sleep for the life of him. For days, he'd toss and turn until the sun was up again and he hadn't caught but a couple of hours rest. Finally, he stopped wasting his money on motel rooms and took naps in the Impala whenever he could manage. It was getting to the point where he didn't trust himself to hunt. He was punchy, haggard (mostly with concern for Castiel), and asking himself why he thought holding on to part of an angel's grace had sounded like such a good idea at the time.

Instead, he spent his days driving. He wasn't really headed anywhere, but that's just what Dean did when he wasn't hunting. Driving. Moving. It was operating on instinct and habits formed over a lifetime on the road.

He hadn't heard from Sam since he left with Samuel, and Dean really hated that but he hated the thought of calling his brother even more. He couldn't stomach listening to Sam's voice say shit that the real Sam would never have said. He had enough to deal with without adding the guy impersonating Sam to the pile.

But the isolation was starting to get to him. Dean didn't like to hunt alone. He never had. He could do it, sure, but _like_ it… no. For that matter, Dean didn't like being alone, hunting or otherwise. There were times when he almost actually _missed_ Sam, soul or no soul, just for the company of another person.

The grace he was harboring certainly wasn't helping. Huddled tight and forlorn in his chest, it made the absence of Castiel very visceral and very distressing. He hated it as much as he treasured it, because the grace might be giving off doom vibes, but at least Dean knew Cas was still alive.

It had to be about one in the morning, and Dean had pulled the Impala off on to a dirt road in the middle of nowhere and parked in the ditch. Exhausted, he climbed in the back, laid down on the seat, and fought for a few snatched hours of sleep. Lately, the grace was a weight inside him, heavy and sometimes downright uncomfortable. He missed when it had felt like air and laughter, light and dreams. He wondered if it would feel like that again when the war was over, before Cas took it back.

More times than not, Dean would end up curled on his side to sleep, arms crossed over his chest. He absolutely was not _cradling_ the grace, because that would be a pansy-ass thing to do, but sometimes he thought he could still feel its warmth, like slivers of sunshine breaking through the clouds in the middle of a storm. He wanted to bundle that feeling close to him as much as possible. Dean used to be a mostly back, sometimes stomach sleeper, but since taking in Castiel's grace, he found it easier to sleep with his arms folded if he lay on his side.

Not that he was getting much sleep, no matter what position he was in. Dean shifted in the backseat, trying to find that perfect spot where sleep would finally find him.

Something appeared in the corner of Dean's eye and he twisted his neck to look out the window by his head. Upside-down, he saw Castiel standing outside the car.

Dean was up in an instant, spilling out of the car and standing to face Castiel in a matter of seconds.

"Cas!" he breathed in greeting. The grace in him was waking to Castiel's presence, spinning slowly at first, then faster and faster, growing stronger with every revolution. Dean's arms twitched and _fuck_, he really wanted to pull the damn angel into a hug. He barely managed to hold himself in check.

"Hello, Dean." The angel looked more drifter than holy tax accountant. His clothes were tattered and dirty, his face lean and haggard. If Dean didn't know better, his first inclination would be to feed the guy.

"It's good to see you." Understatement of the century. "But I have to say, you've looked better."

"I've felt better." Castiel's eyes shifted darkly. "I wanted to see you before tomorrow."

That felt ominous. "What's tomorrow?"

"The battle with Raphael that will decide this war." Castiel looked up at Dean, and there was part feral animal and part dispirited waif in his expression. "The brothers and sisters fighting with me against Raphael have campaigned long and hard to arrange this confrontation. It's demanded costly sacrifices and necessitated very _regrettable_ things, but it's finally here."

What was it with them and epic last stands? Dean was never going to be able to enjoy a Hollywood flick again.

"Is there anything I can do?" Dean asked.

Castiel looked intently at him, head tilting in a very familiar gesture. "You've already done more than anyone could hope to do." The angel's eyes dropped meaningfully to the spot between Dean's clavicles.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, but it was totally the cold air. "I feel like I haven't done jack squat."

"That's not true," Castiel replied in a rough, raw voice. He took a step closer to Dean. Dean's chest tightened. "Through all the things I've had to do in this war, everything I've done that's left its ruinous mark on my grace, I could feel _you_… the piece of me you carry that is still pure." Castiel seemed to buckle just a little. "That has been an immense comfort to me. More than you will probably ever know."

"Actually, I think I understand."

And maybe Dean couldn't _really_, not in a million years, but Castiel didn't argue with him.

The night was still and calm, but inside Dean was raging. He couldn't lose Cas… not after everything. He'd already lost too many people, not Castiel, too. _Not Cas_.

"Can you stay for a while?" Dean asked hopefully.

"A while… until it's time." Castiel's shoulders slumped. "Like me, my brothers and sisters who have fought beside me, those who will face Raphael's army tomorrow, are taking what solace they can tonight."

In case it was their last night in existence. And Dean wanted nothing more than to be greedy and keep all those precious remaining minutes with Castiel, but…

Dean swallowed. "You know you're always welcome to hang around, but if there's somewhere else you want to go tonight…" No telling what kind of fantastic places would be on an angel's bucket list. He remembered another last night alive and the misadventure at the brothel. Good times.

Castiel met Dean's eyes with his own. "There is nowhere I would rather be."

Dean mustered up a smile. Castiel, after a second, returned it thinly.

And this Dean was too damn practiced at. The night before the big fight, the threat of annihilation in the air and marking time with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

Somehow, Dean and Cas ended up on the hood, side by side as they reclined back against the windshield, staring up at the stars. Once upon a time, Castiel would have looked ten kinds of awkward in such a relaxed pose, but the war made him sink into stolen moments of rest like a native.

It was peaceful. With the angel shoulder to shoulder with him, the grace in Dean was content. He could have fallen asleep easily, but he would not let himself miss one second of the night.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?" Dean rolled his head along the glass to look over at Cas.

Castiel cast a guarded, careful look at Dean. "Since my creation in the Beginning, I have always had my siblings and my Father, but I have never known true friendship before you. Thank you."

Dean responded by shoving Castiel off the hood onto the ground, where the startled angel landed with a grunt.

Angry, Dean leapt off the car while Castiel looked up at him from the dirt in puzzled surprise.

"Don't you fucking do that. Don't you make any goodbye speeches."

Castiel's surprise became something close to anger, then it melted into patient care. "I'm being prudent… there are things I wish you to know if I –"

"_No_!" Dean reached down, gathered the lapels of the angel's coat in both hands, and hauled Castiel up to his feet. "You're coming back, so just shut up." Dean stood nose to nose with Cas, his hands still fisted in the angel's trench coat. Castiel didn't resist him, only stared at him.

"I see," Castiel finally said. "This is where you exercise your remarkable capacity for denial."

"Until I pull something," Dean countered smartly.

That made Castiel huff out a breath that another other day might have been a chuckle. "Very well… if not speeches, how do you propose to spend what time I have left… with you tonight."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Castiel for the very deliberate choice of words and the significant placing of his pauses, then he let go of the angel's coat (though failed to step back). Hell if Dean knew…

But suddenly he did.

"I want to see you."

Castiel frowned. "You are looking at me right now, Dean."

"No, I mean, I want to see _you_. Not your vessel."

Comprehension dawned and Castiel's eyes widened. "You want to see my true form?"

Hell yes.

"After what went down with Remiel, we know it won't burn my eyeballs out of my skull." Dean favored Castiel with a genuine, gentle look. "We've been friends for a while, Cas, and I don't even know what you look like."

For all he knew it was a really inappropriate question to ask an angel, like asking your buddy to pull out his wang for a look-see, but he wasn't going to take it back.

When he had a moment to process it, Castiel didn't look offended. If anything, he looked touched. "Very well." Then he took a few steps backward, giving himself room. "I'll unveil my wings first… if you are unharmed by seeing them, I will show you the rest of me." Cas smiled. "All of me."

Dean fidgeted in anticipation and watched, eyes wide, almost afraid to blink in case he missed something.

Against the dark road and open countryside, Castiel stood and squared his shoulders.

One second there was nothing, then the next the space behind Castiel was filled with color and light as the angel's wings snapped out, sharp and quick, like a diving falcon pulling up out of free fall. Dean flinched then stared. They were enormous, arching away from Castiel and curling inward, like they were holding the world still for Castiel to do with as he wished. There weren't feathers. There were layers of light and colors, mostly honeyed browns and tawny tans, but brilliant golds, silvers, and white danced across their surface like sunlight on a lake. And the closer Dean looked, the more he felt the impression of feathers… or at least their shape. They were there like the afterimage of a bright light floated on the back of the eyelids after the light was gone. Dean thought he saw the outline of a bird-like wing, though it was oft lost in the shifting light and color. Maybe the idea of feathers came from him, his mind, or maybe it was part memory of the shadows Dean had seen on the barn wall the first night he met Castiel.

Wherever their perception of form came from…

"Awesome!"

Castiel smirked. "Prepare yourself."

That made Dean _squirm_ with excitement.

The prism of wings began to grow… taller, wider, brighter, stronger… until the sky was fairly filled with the kaleidoscope of light. The browns were overtaken by the white, silvers, and golds. The light reached right up toward the stars, a massive presence of energy. A Chrysler Building of awe-inspiring enormity, made entirely of light and color. It was everywhere and overwhelming, but somehow it was not there, too. Every moment felt like Dean couldn't be absolutely sure he was actually seeing what he was seeing. Like one of those damn Magic Eye posters in every mall in America that always made Dean's eyes hurt. Dean felt like he went cross-eyed when he realized he was peering at another plane, seeing something his body was not equipped to gaze upon… he could see how most people had their eyes scorched.

While he was looking, his body was practically exploding. The grace in his chest was pushing at the boundaries of his body, fit to bust out in eagerness to rejoin the brilliance he was seeing. Dean wanted to go with it, lose himself in all that magnificence and become one with it.

There were moments of darkness, like slimy oil streaking across the color, and the grace in Dean twinged. He knew he was seeing Castiel's disease, the result of his dangerous choices. But the blackness seemed so far removed from the elegance of the rest of it all.

Dean was lost in staring, then he physically started when he realized that, just like the impression of feathers earlier, he got an impression of _Cas_. In that light, though he didn't see it, he could still discern features. The blazes of bright blue were Castiel's eyes, the dark colors the hue of his hair, the warmth the touch of his skin, the suggestion of the power to reach out the shape of his hands. It was like this enormous blinding force was casting a tiny shadow… the shadow of Jimmy Novak's body.

Then it was over, just as quickly as it began. The light was gone. So were the colors. The air no longer danced with the angelic energy that had set the world on the cusp of deliriously happy free fall. It made everything _after_ dark, dull, and ponderously heavy. Dean blinked and found himself looking at Castiel, holy tax accountant, looking just a bit self-conscious.

Dean braced himself against the Impala to keep from toppling. "Holy shit, Cas! That… you… that was _amazing_! Fuck, I've never seen anything that _beautiful_." He _must_ have been thunderstruck to outright call Castiel 'beautiful'. Luckily, no one outside the two of them was there to be a witness to it.

Castiel actually looked embarrassed. "I'm not extraordinary. Your soul doesn't look so different… only much smaller."

"There is no way my soul looks anything like _that_. That was…"

"Heavenly?" Castiel suggested with a smirk.

Dean laughed and couldn't stop himself from putting a hand to his chest. Inside, the grace was throbbing in a wonderfully tight way.

Castiel walked forward to stand close to Dean. Dean stared at Castiel's face, unable to look at him without thinking about what he truly was, beyond the mask of humanity. No wonder he'd seemed almost an alien creature to them sometimes… he was so different from the vessel he wore. They had known that intellectually, of course, but they still found themselves expecting humanness from him because the face they saw was _human_.

A soft touch drew Dean's attention from his awed thoughts and he found Castiel touching his shoulder, the same place where Dean bore a brand from Castiel saving him from Hell. As if Dean ever needed further reminder that Castiel was not a lanky man in a suit than that single mark.

"Thank you," Dean said hoarsely.

"You were right," Castiel replied gently, "it's only fitting that you know me as I know you."

At that, Dean cocked his head. "Is it something like _that_ you see when you look at me?" He'd said human souls were kind of like miniature versions (though Dean still didn't really believe it).

Castiel nodded, his eyes sparkling. "When I want to, yes."

If that _was_ true, Dean could sort of understand now how Cas could have always been touting Dean's goodness and righteousness, if he really saw anything like _that_ in the hunter.

The softness in Castiel's eyes left, replaced with hard resolve when his mind seemed to wander elsewhere, fixated and attentive. "I have to go now."

Fuck it. Dean stepped into Cas, throwing his arms around the angel and hugging him tight. After a heartbeat of holding awkwardly still, Castiel's arms folded around Dean in return. They stood on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere at night locked in a strong embrace. Since no one was there to see them, Dean let the hug last way past the cut-off mark for decency between two grown men. Dean didn't care, and Castiel didn't know that he should.

"Be _careful_," Dean growled.

"I will," Castiel whispered into Dean's shoulder.

"_Come back_."

"I'll try."

Even then, it seemed like a Herculean effort to remove his arms from around the angel. Castiel seemed just as reluctant to let go. When they were standing facing each other, Castiel spared a moment to take in Dean and the Impala together, his expression thoughtful.

Before Dean could ask, Castiel was gone in a rush of air.

The grace in Dean was hurting at the sudden distance.

Dean turned toward his car…

…and suddenly found himself _and_ his baby in front of Bobby's salvage yard hundreds of miles away from where he'd been. He looked around at first, confused, then he laughed.

Castiel knew Dean didn't like to be alone.

To Be Continued… 


	15. Chapter 15

Bobby took in the wayward Winchester that appeared at his place out of thin air with commendable aplomb, offering Dean breakfast without missing a beat. While Dean picked at his food, he told Bobby the important information (pertinent to the angel civil war) from what Castiel had told him the night before. The more Bobby heard, the meaner his scowl looked.

Dean skipped most of the details about his time alone with Cas (Bobby already entertained the notion that man and angel were getting Biblical – no need to fan that flame), when Bobby interrupted with, "What's the matter, Dean?"

"Huh?" Dean looked up at the older hunter, dazed and distracted.

"You keep rubbing your chest. You in pain?"

Dean looked down to find his hand massaging his chest. He hadn't even realized he was doing that. But once it was pointed out, it made him think about the feeling _underneath_ his ribs. It was pain, of a sort. Like the pain in his heart when he'd been running full-out too long but couldn't spare the time to stop. It was the adrenaline dump of life-or-death struggling, and it was all too fitting a parallel, considering what Castiel was doing at that very moment.

Dean didn't want to think about it.

"I'm fine."

Bobby looked doubtful.

The pain remained through the morning and toward noon, and Dean stopped trying to pretend like it wasn't bothering him. More often than not he was rubbing or pressing on his chest, face screwed and brow knit. He broke out in a cold sweat. Moving around became a strain.

Bobby was watching him like a hawk, and Dean just knew he was trying to think of every exorcism ritual he knew that might get the grace out of Dean.

Finally, after a far-too-shrewd look from Bobby when Dean went to the kitchen for a drink, Dean snapped. "Stop looking at me like you're waiting to go after me with a pair of pliers!" he barked.

"I'm just considering our options! You look like _shit_, Dean, and if this doesn't stop…"

Dean leveled Bobby with a furious glare, made less threatening by the fact that Dean was hunched over as he stood with one hand on Bobby's kitchen counter and the other on his chest. "Don't you do a damn thing to take it out of me, hear me? Promise, Bobby!"

Bobby fumed and said nothing.

Dean clenched his teeth. "I mean it. If you're going to try ripping it out the first time my back's turned, I'll leave right now."

"And how far you think you're going to get?" Bobby asked sourly.

Probably not far, if Dean was being honest, but he turned and angled for the door all the same.

"Get back here, Dean!"

"Not until you promise me!" Dean countered fiercely.

"You're a Winchester all right, you stubborn ass! You look like you're having a damn heart attack, and you want me to do _nothing_?"

"YES!" His chest was pounding, the light inside him that was once warm and cozy suddenly bladed and lancing him.

"Fine! But you die and I'm summoning your fucking ghost just to say I told you so!"

"Works for me," Dean joked weakly.

Then he screamed when it suddenly felt like a grenade went off in his chest. He dropped to his knees.

"_DEAN_!" Bobby rushed to his side, grabbing at Dean to keep him from going face-first into the floor. Not that Dean even noticed.

Dean was consumed by the feeling of pain. The grace… it felt like it had cracked wide open. Broken shards spilled through him, slicing as they went, burning him inside.

His vision swam. The floor shifted sickeningly.

He would swear his insides were being ground up, reduced to a bloody pulp of pureed tissue. It felt like it was filling up his throat, climbing up.

With a sudden heave, he vomited on the kitchen floor.

"_Shit_! Dean, _Dean_?" Bobby's voice was far away… in another world, apart from the pain that was Dean's existence. The older hunter sounded like the tiny voice on the other end of a phone.

Dean was too busy being completely pulverized from the inside to take his call.

Then he lost consciousness.

To Be Continued…


	16. Chapter 16

When Dean slowly regained consciousness, it was like being hit with every bad hangover he'd ever had in his life all at once. Even breathing sucked ass; he wasn't even ready to _think_ about anything more strenuous. His body was prone… he was lying flat on his back, on a bed he guessed from the way he sank into the surface underneath him. His limbs felt too heavy to move. In his chest there was a deep, echoing pain. He tried to remember getting shot, because it felt like waking up after surgery to patch up a bullet wound. Only bigger. Maybe some fucker had gone at him with a machine gun. Maybe there had been _lots_ of bullets.

'_Sam_.'

It was the first coherent thought he had that wasn't tied to the pain of his body – it was _always_ his first thought after he'd been knocked out. Sam was always the first thing on his mind since Dean was four and a half. Somehow, thinking of his brother made him uneasy, but he couldn't think why.

He forced his eyes open and found the ceiling of Bobby's guest bedroom above him, crappy paint and all. They were at Bobby's? Why? And who the _fuck_ had shot him in the chest?

Though his body was not on board with the plan, Dean tried to move so he could look around the room. He had to figure out what was going on, if they were safe, if there was trouble… his gut told him there was _definitely_ trouble close. The only thing he managed to do was groan, sharp and loud, when the movement jarred every nerve ending he owned.

On the upside, his cry of pain brought someone.

"Dean?"

Eyes slammed closed and face pinched in pain, Dean recognized the voice and hissed, "B...Bobby?"

Calloused hands touched him gently on the face, then the neck. "Yeah, it's me, kid."

Dean tried an experimental breath then pried his eyes open again. Bobby was leaning over him, looking gruff and worried. Dean furrowed his brow, trying to piece together what the hell…

"…wha' hap'nd?"

Bobby's look turned mad. Uh oh… so it was something Dean had done, then.

"That's what I was going to ask _you_. We were standing in the kitchen arguing one minute, then the next you're having some kind of attack and dropped like a rock."

"Huh?" Dean tried to roll over on his side and found himself damn near weak as a kitten. Fantastic.

Bobby pushed him on to his back again (far too easily, Dean noticed) with an exasperated sigh. "Knock it off, ya idjit. You've been out cold for two days. Just take it easy before I knock you back on your ass."

Dean stilled and looked up at Bobby in surprise. Two days?

Before Dean could get another word out, Bobby was making him drink from a glass of water on the nightstand. Dean only realized how thirsty he was once the room-temperature water touched his lips. He gulped greedily, not even bothered when some of it spilled down the sides of his mouth. By the time Bobby took the glass away and set it back on the nightstand, he looked less mad and more resigned to whatever jackassery Dean got up to.

The older hunter sat down on the edge of the bed beside Dean and took off his cap to rake a hand over his hair. He looked like he had bad news. Dean was already bracing himself.

"Your brother's here." Bobby looked almost bitter about that. "He turned up day after you did. Whatever happened between the angels, it set off a chain reaction of weird-ass shit down here. Reports of churches' statues _moving_, blessed water actually changing to wine, the dead speaking from their damn coffins just for a few parting words to their loved ones. Nothing _dangerous_, but damn well not _normal_. Never thought I'd get so much phone work because of _angels_. It all seemed to burn itself out after a few hours – it's been quiet since then on the freaky stuff from Heaven front – but still…"

Angels?

Then it all rushed back at Dean in an instant. Sam sans soul. Angels. Civil war. _Cas_. Suddenly, Dean wanted nothing more than to drop back into the blackness of unconsciousness. He wasn't up to dealing with this crap.

"Sam might not have a conscience, but he's still _smart_," Bobby was saying. "When all that crap started happening, he figured out it was something to do with the angels."

"And _then_ he wants to find me," Dean said snidely.

That elicited a shrug from Bobby. "Like I said, you're the go to human for inside info on the angels," Bobby said in apology, "I know that and Sam knows that." Bobby replaced his cap and looked down searchingly at Dean. "He's gone to town to get supplies right now, but he's been sharking you like you're going to have all the answers when you woke up."

Nothing to do with being worried about his well-being. Dean dragged a hand up to wipe at his face. Then his hand fell to his chest and lay there, gauging the soul-deep ache festering behind his sternum.

Bobby saw the move and frowned. "That fit you had in the kitchen, is it because… you think Castiel's…"

Dean closed his eyes against the idea, but also to focus on the grace inside him. Not that he had a guide to the damn thing, but if Castiel was gone…

After a long time, Dean opened his eyes. "I don't know, Bobby… but I _think_ he's alive."

"You think?"

His gut and his chest agreed as much. Dean nodded feebly. "Yeah… but he's in bad shape." That was the answer that felt the most true when he concentrated long and hard on the grace he harbored. He hoped it wasn't just wishful thinking on his part. But _surely_ Cas couldn't be dead… he _couldn't be_… Dean wouldn't stand for it.

"Well… alive at least," Bobby mumbled. "That's something."

Dean nodded to himself. Then he looked askance at Bobby. "You actually kept your promise."

Bobby grunted.

Dean quirked one eyebrow. "Or you couldn't find anything that would degrace a human."

"Not one damn thing," Bobby confirmed moodily, at which Dean smirked knowingly. He would have preferred Bobby not even try. He would have preferred Bobby keep his promise. But on the other hand, he knew Bobby was all about looking out for the Winchester boys, and it was hard to fault Bobby for caring too much. Not when most people in Dean's life cared too little.

Dean tried sitting up again and this time managed to shove himself semi-upright against the headboard. He looked at Bobby warily. "Did you tell Sam? About the grace thing?"

"No, and you can bet your ass he was suspicious when he turned up and you were in the state that you were." Bobby let loose a massive shrug. "I told him you and your angel must be connected somehow because of your _relationship_, and that's why you fainted when the shit hit the fan up in Heaven. I don't know if he believes it, but he's got nothing to suggest otherwise. There's not exactly a book covering what you've done with that angel of yours."

"I didn't _faint_," Dean argued.

"Sure you didn't… you would have busted your face on my floor if I hadn't grabbed you."

Dean snorted but snuck out a hand and gripped Bobby's arm tightly in a brief, manly 'thank you'. Bobby smiled fleetingly in acknowledgment as an equally manly 'anytime'.

"Have you heard anything about how it went up there?" Dean asked with an eye flick toward the ceiling. "The angel war, I mean."

"No… I was kind of hoping you'd have news when you came to."

Dean frowned and tried to divine the answer, he really did, but he couldn't use the grace that much. "The only angel I feel is Cas. I don't know what's going on except that Castiel is hurt." And knowing just that was a burden. Where was he? Was he hidden somewhere safe? Was he recovering from victory or languishing in the hands of the enemy?

"Well," Bobby hedged, seeming to see Dean's distress and hating how little he could do to reassure him. "It's not rain of fire or plagues and pestilence down here, so either Cas and his angel friends saved humanity's collective ass, or they didn't and the Team Apocalypse gang is easing into the end of the world." Bobby shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I'm keeping my ears out and eyes open, and soon as I know anything that might tell us which, I'll let you know." Bobby paused. "But I still figure you'll know something before I do."

Dean cocked his head in a move reminiscent of Castiel.

It didn't escape Bobby's notice and he smirked. Then, to Dean's silent question, Bobby said with the patience of explaining the very obvious to the very simple, "Soon as he's got a shred of energy to do it, your angel will haul ass to you."

Dean should have probably been embarrassed or indignant about Bobby's observation, but all he could do was smile. He believed Bobby was right, and it felt fairly _awesome_.

And why hadn't he noticed before that moment how often Bobby referred to Castiel as Dean's angel?

With a snort and a headshake, Bobby got off the bed and said, "Get some more rest; you still look like hell on toast. I'll wake you if the sky starts falling."

He didn't need to be told twice. "Thanks, Bobby," Dean mumbled as he nestled back down on the bed, rolling on to his side and closing his eyes. He curled his arms over his chest. This time, the name he chanted in his mind was not Sam's.

'_Cas_. Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas.'

To Be Continued…


	17. Chapter 17

He put it off as long as he could, but hunger finally drove Dean out of the guest bedroom (where he'd very toughly been playing possum) into Bobby's kitchen. He found himself walking stiffly, constantly plagued by the pulsing, brittle ache in his chest. He felt every one of his years… not the thirty-odd he looked, but the seventy-plus his soul had experienced. The twinge in the grace he carried felt immeasurably older. Dean paused several times to rally himself, despite the gripping discomfort.

Because just like he expected, Sam was on him the second he came into the kitchen.

"Dean…" the giant man stood from the table quickly. "What's happened with the angels?"

Dean stopped in his tracks, scowled at his brother, and cast Bobby by the sink an inquisitive look.

"I told him you don't know," Bobby offered, for what good it did in the face of new and improved Sam Winchester.

Sam scowled. "You have to know _something_. You're fucking one of the generals, right?"

He didn't dignify that with a response. He stood tensely still, staring at Sam, then moved to the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee. "I'm fine, Sam… thanks for asking."

"That wasn't… Bobby already told me you were okay." Sam huffed. "Come on, Dean, this is no time to screw around. Potential end of the world here. Tap into that angel love connection you have and find out what's going on."

With measured moves, Dean set his cup down and turned to face his brother. "Don't you think I've _tried_?"

"Have you?"

Dean felt rage filling up the ache everywhere that Castiel's grace touched him. It ended up being a whole lot of Dean. "You know what, Sam? You can go screw yourself. Someone very important to me could be _dying_ for all I know, and you want to stand there and tell me I haven't tried to find out what's going on up there? That I wouldn't do it if I could?" Dean narrowed his eyes murderously. "There was a time when you knew me better than that."

"Yeah, well, there was a time when you were stronger," Sam countered acidly.

"That's enough, Sam," came from Bobby.

"What? It's true," Sam snapped. "Ever since Dean came back from Hell, he's been weak."

"Yeah, but at least I've been _human,_" Dean growled.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" The look on Sam's face was smug and _inhuman_.

Shocked silence filled the kitchen.

"_Get out_," Dean hissed.

Sam lifted his chin mutinously and didn't move a muscle.

"I swear to god, Sam… you don't want to be here in the next ten seconds."

"And why not?"

Dean closed his hands into fists. "Because we heard you loud and clear. You're a monster. And I'm still a hunter."

Derision sparked in Sam's eyes. "You wouldn't kill your own brother."

"No, I wouldn't. But you're _not_ my brother."

No telling what might have happened next if Bobby didn't intercede. The older hunter stepped forward, between the brothers, and said, "That's enough, both of you. Sam… you should go."

"What, you too, Bobby? You're taking _his_ side?"

"Call it a _human weakness_."

With a snarl of disgust, Sam stormed out, slamming the front door behind him hard enough to rattle the glass.

Only then did Dean sink down into a chair and let himself show the fatigue in his body.

"Well," Bobby said at length, "that could have gone worse… not sure how, but give me a minute, I'll think of it."

Dean laughed, but it was forced and pathetic. "What am I going to do about him, Bobby?"

"I don't know, kid… but it's getting to the point where we'll have to do _something_." Past that, in truth.

Just as soon as Dean knew what had become of Castiel. One crisis at a time… Dean didn't feel up to handling more than that. Before he could think about anything else, he had to find out Castiel's fate.

To Be Continued…


	18. Chapter 18

When Castiel turned up, it was completely without fanfare. One moment he wasn't there, then the next moment he was.

Dean was sleeping, or trying to. The last couple of days had been a long wait for word with no one to call for updates. Bobby tried a few spells he found in some old religious texts he had, some tantamount to summoning rituals and some just designed to get a peek at the divine, but either they didn't work or they weren't powerful enough to pierce whatever was going on with the angels. It was worse than any time Dean had ever spent in a hospital waiting room, because at least in a hospital there were nurses to hound. Fuck, at least there you knew where the person in trouble was… actually _in the building_. Castiel could be _anywhere_… if he was even anywhere at all. Harbor of grace or not, Dean still couldn't claim understanding of how Castiel's existence worked.

It put Dean in a spectacularly sour mood. Bobby had the decency not to call it moping (at least not to Dean's face), but it was agonizing all the same. The only thing that kept Dean sane was the grace he carried. He felt the severity of the ache inside him lessen gradually, and taking its place were the traces of warmth and peace he'd come to expect from the chunk of angel in him.

That had to be a good sign. He told himself it couldn't be anything but.

But days without word from Castiel, and Dean was getting antsy. After all, Castiel could be alive and recovering and _still_ be in enemy hands.

Dean lay on his side on the bed, trying to run down that elusive sleep and failing spectacularly. He'd taken a hot shower a little earlier (ridiculously hoping it would ease the aching of his body, even though it wasn't a physical ache that plagued him). When that didn't work, he slipped into a pair of boxer briefs then flopped down on top of the bed to try and will himself to sleep. Because Dean Winchester was that kind of idiot.

Then the mattress beside him dipped – to the accompaniment of the sound of wings – and he rolled over to find none other than Castiel lying face-down on the bed next to him.

Naked.

He'd get to that later.

"Cas!" Dean reached toward the angel frantically. The second his hand landed on hot skin, the grace in Dean's chest exploded with light and heat and fucking elation. Finally, _yes_!

"… Dean," the angel greeted without lifting his head from the pillow. He looked dead tired, and that was so much better than _dead_.

"Fuck, Cas, where have you _been_? I've been pulling my hair out down here," Dean scolded.

Without lifting his head, Castiel frowned and opened one eye to peer up curiously at Dean… looking first at his full head of hair, then in his eyes. "You have not removed your hair."

"It's just an expression," Dean explained with an eye roll. Which he used to mask sidling a little closer on the bed to Castiel. Without his bulky clothes to give him mass, the angel was all scrawny limbs and pale skin.

"Cas… the war. What happened?"

His face pressed firmly to the pillow, Castiel slowly began to smile, and it was just as much heartache as it was happiness. Dean knew that combination all too well. "Raphael has been defeated," the angel answered gravely. Castiel's _brother_ had been defeated. And because he was Castiel's brother – because all the enemies had been Castiel's brothers and sisters – the victory would never be jubilantly celebrated. It was never joyous to kill one's own siblings.

Dean's eyes widened. "So it's over?"

"Yes."

Dean let out a huge sigh of relief. In a wonderfully human gesture, Castiel mirrored him with one of his own.

Then Dean took a moment to really consider the angel lying next to him. His hand still rested on the expanse of Castiel's back, and he might not have a lot of intimate know-how of the workings of the angel's body, but he couldn't recall Castiel ever being so warm to the touch before. That and he looked like he had used every ounce of strength he had to reach Dean, all but falling face-first into the mattress when he finally found him. But there were no gashes or bloody wounds, no missing limbs or joints akimbo at unnatural angles.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked gently.

"Tired… very tired."

"I'll bet." A pause. "Where are your _clothes_?"

Castiel's eyebrows lifted and he drew up from the bed just enough to glance down at himself. Clearly he only really noticed his state of undress when Dean pointed it out. How an all-powerful angel of the Lord could be so scarily omniscient and also so adorably oblivious was beyond Dean.

"I was incinerated," Castiel explained passively of his nudity.

"_What_?"

"Burned."

"I know what it means! What I meant was _what the hell_…?"

Castiel sighed. "It was only my physical manifestation that was set on fire… since my corporeal form is oddly bound to my true one, Raphael attacked it to strike a blow at my power."

"Shit!"

"I was not incapacitated as Raphael had hoped," Castiel brushed off being _burned alive_ like it was nothing more devastating than a fender bender, "but it took a great deal of effort to recreate this body so I could come here. In my haste to get to you, I guess I didn't notice I wasn't strong enough yet to manifest the clothing." He seemed momentarily perturbed by human sensibilities that dictate he have made clothing a priority. Then he just resigned himself to the cold, hard fact that his appearance was deemed inappropriate. Castiel started to struggle against gravity in a move to leave the bed. "If my state of undress makes you uncomfortable…"

Dean pushed down on Castiel's back, surprised by how little work it took to subdue the angel. "Don't be stupid, Cas. I don't care if you're in your birthday suit. You can borrow something of mine to wear. It's just a good thing I wasn't out in public somewhere when you finally managed to find me." Dean's smirk disappeared into a stern expression. "But you make one move to disappear on me, and I'll kick your angelic ass."

"Oh, good." Castiel sank back down on the bed, muscles going lax in an instant. "I wasn't sure I could go anywhere, anyway."

Affection and relief warred in Dean for supremacy. Without thinking, he moved his hand up and ruffled Castiel's dark hair.

At the unusual gesture, Castiel looked up at Dean again, questioning and searching.

Dean blushed. "I was worried about you."

"Thank you."

Typical off-center Castiel response. Dean shook his head and looked intently at Cas. "Are you here… why are you here?" If this was the prelude to another crisis, Dean might just throw himself a good old-fashioned temper tantrum. _No fucking more_.

"To rest and to recover… now that the fighting is over, I must regain my strength. I am weak, Dean," the confession came out of Castiel small and shamed. As if Dean would forget that Castiel got that way risking his fucking existence to save the miserable planet Dean called home.

"It's going to be okay, Cas… I'm right here." And how that had anything to do with Castiel recuperating Dean didn't know, the words just came out of him, but they must have been right. Castiel looked _relieved_.

Dean lay down on his back on his side of the bed, grinning to himself for many reasons. Castiel was alive. The Apocalypse was still handily off the rails, hopefully this time for good. Cas was back. And the grace in his chest was alive again with everything good Dean had come to associate with it.

Within the confines of Bobby's guest room, life fucking _rocked_.

Just as Dean was drifting off, Castiel moved. The mattress creaked and shifted as the angel dragged himself hesitantly across the distance between them. Dean lay still and let Castiel sidle up next to him. Dean could feel the heat of Castiel's overly-warm body like a fevered aura. Tentatively, Cas reached up and let his hand come to rest on Dean's chest, palm flat and fingers spread in a possessive gesture (just of his grace hidden in Dean, though, Dean was fairly sure of that… like sixty-nine percent sure). When the hunter didn't protest the touch of his hand on Dean's bare torso, Castiel braved much more. He pushed up onto his elbow and leaned toward Dean. Then, with a controlled collapse, he fell on to Dean's chest, his head pillowed just above his grace.

The grace in Dean was tearing the seams with happiness.

The angel let out a broken, sad cry and hugged Dean's body tight.

Castiel might have just been holding on to the grace Dean was carrying, but he hugged Cas back anyway.

To Be Continued…


	19. Chapter 19

The sight of Castiel padding around barefoot in an old pair of Dean's jeans and a worn AC/DC t-shirt would never stop making Dean smile. Both articles of clothing had been stuffed in the bottom of Dean's bag for years, grown too tight but Dean not quite ready to give up on them (it was a small miracle when some piece of clothing a Winchester owned didn't meet a violent end… those that survived the hunter lifestyle almost became good luck charms). Now he was glad he hadn't thrown them out, because Castiel wearing them, _that_ was Christmas card material right there.

Sitting at Bobby's kitchen table, Castiel cocked his head at Dean and frowned. "Why would you want to give out Christmas cards with my image on them?"

Dean laughed. Bobby, pretending like he wasn't overhearing it all, just shook his head as he dug through the refrigerator for lunchmeat.

Things with Bobby had been a little awkward, but only because Dean woke up in the late morning with a sleeping, naked Castiel draped over him and a blanket thrown over the both of them. A blanket they had _not_ had when they fell asleep. Which could only mean Bobby popped in, saw them cuddled up like everything they'd falsely told Sam they were, and spread a blanket over them… all without waking either man. Dean wasn't really sure what made him more uncomfortable… that Bobby had seen Castiel sleeping or that Bobby had seen the angel's lily-white ass. That had to be sacrilegious or something.

To his credit, Bobby didn't say a word about it. And Castiel didn't seem bothered by Bobby peeping on his goods, but then, Castiel wouldn't understand that he ought to be. So Dean felt it fell to him to be embarrassed for Cas.

"Now that we know your angel's saved the world," Bobby said as he closed the refrigerator door with his foot, hands full, "we should get the word out."

Castiel just nodded solemnly.

Dean, standing at the counter, slathered three slices of bread with mustard. "It's nice to get to be the bearers of _good_ news for a change." With the supplies Bobby had fetched, Dean threw together three heavily-stuffed sandwiches. Bobby snatched up one plate while Dean carried the other two plates to the table. He set one down in front of Castiel and sat down to Castiel's left.

Castiel eyed the food dubiously. "This isn't necessary, Dean. I don't require food."

"Yeah, well, I'll believe that when you've got meat back on your bones. _Eat_."

Castiel scowled slightly before he picked up the sandwich and obediently took a bite.

Bobby sat opposite Dean, watching them both, then directed his eyes at Castiel. "So… when you going to be getting that chunk of angel grace out of Dean?"

His mouth full, Dean could only shoot Bobby a hostile look.

Castiel took care to swallow before he glanced at Dean and replied, "I wouldn't dare do it now… my powers are not returned enough to make the attempt. Trying to retrieve it when I am weak would just cause Dean unnecessary pain. But soon."

Dean did his best to maintain a neutral expression at that. He wasn't going to be disappointed. The grace inside him was never meant to stay in the first place. It was always on loan. He reminded himself of that several times as he sat there with Castiel and Bobby.

The older hunter nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I'll be glad to see it gone. Dean acts like it's nothing, but I've been worried about how much it's affected him."

"_Bobby_," Dean growled.

Castiel was suddenly very attentive. "What do you mean?"

Trying to forestall a bad conversation, Dean interjected, "Come on, Cas… you knew that I was getting some fringe benefits from hauling your grace around."

Castiel looked closely at him. "I'm certain _I_ never used the word 'benefits'."

Dean shrugged.

Bobby wasn't done meddling, and he was getting the sense Castiel was on his side. "Dean here collapsed when you were up there fighting the other angels."

Castiel's eyes flew from Bobby to Dean. "Is that true, Dean?"

"Traitor," Dean hissed at Bobby.

"Hate me if you want, Dean, but I'm worried about you. Something's going on with you I can't begin to understand, and I finally have the expert here, so suck it up. I'm going to ask."

"I'm grateful you told me of this, Bobby," Castiel said, with heavy sincerity in his voice that made Dean feel like a kid whose father just learned about something wrong he'd done.

"It's not as bad as Bobby's making it sound," Dean argued.

"So is this weird stuff going to stop once you get the grace out?" Bobby asked, undeterred by Dean's protest.

Castiel looked uncertain. He turned his full attention on Dean and stared. Long and hard, the way he used to stare before Dean lectured him on inappropriate breech of common human decency. It was that look like Castiel was peering straight through him right into his soul.

A wrinkle formed between Castiel's eyebrows.

"What?" Dean asked, feeling naked under the gaze.

Without asking, Castiel leaned over, pulled up the bottom of Dean's shirt, slipped his hand inside, and placed his palm on the hunter's chest. Dean flinched and looked questioningly at Castiel. The grace in him surged, filled him magnificently, made him joyous inside from the sudden skin on skin contact.

Castiel dipped his chin intently, looked up at Dean with a frightening intensity, and Dean found himself unable to resist it. He sat stone-still while Castiel searched him for something. He was acutely aware of Bobby sitting across the table watching the angel basically feel up Dean, and _that_ was epic levels of uncomfortable, but asking for some privacy would only make the situation more awkward. Dean just sat still and gritted his teeth.

The look on Castiel's face changed from intense to surprised… and aghast. He drew his hand out of Dean's shirt, pulled away, and stood up abruptly from the table. He looked spooked.

"What is it?" Bobby demanded first.

Castiel took a step back, eyes wide, and looked beseechingly at Dean. "Dean…" the angel said, sounding abrasive, "you should have told me how extensive the effect of my grace was on you." The bite of scolding to his voice ebbed, replaced with guilt and shame. "But I should have paid closer attention… I let myself get too distracted by the war to see what was happening." Abject misery was a bad look on Cas; Dean could say that with certainty because the angel's expression was saturated by it in the next moment. "I am truly very sorry. If I had ever believed this might happen, I would not have burdened you with being the harbor of my grace."

"What's wrong, Cas?" Dean asked, though he was almost afraid to.

Never had the angel looked more like he wanted to run… well, except for at that brothel. But at the brothel, he hadn't looked so devastated, only freaked out.

"It appears that the part of my grace I put in Dean and Dean's soul have… grown together."

"What?" Bobby and Dean said in unison.

"How can that even happen?" Bobby growled.

Looking anxious, like a kid who'd broken the television and dreaded his parents coming home, Castiel narrowed his eyes and pinched his lips together. "It shouldn't have. Human souls are resistant to merging with the energy of another being. It's why humans serve as angelic vessels as well as they do. My grace and Dean's soul should have naturally remained separate, even if they shared a single body."

"Is it because Dean's the vessel of an Archangel, you think?" Bobby speculated.

Castiel shook his head. "No… if anything, that should make his soul even _more_ adept at keeping itself apart from an angelic presence inside him. The grace of an Archangel is even more potent and overpowering than mine is."

"So what do we do?" Bobby asked with a frown. "Can you get it out of him?"

Castiel looked absolutely miserable. "No… not without taking part of his soul with it."

A very tense silence filled the room at that statement.

"So that's it? Dean's stuck with your grace forever? Well, what is _that_ going to do to him? Didn't I tell you this was a bad idea, boy?" Bobby began ranting.

Dean sat there half-listening to them discuss the crisis, oddly calm and disconnected from the immediacy of the matter. He just couldn't make himself feel worried about the prospect of never being rid of the grace he'd taken in. He knew he probably should be, but he just wasn't.

The silence in the room made him blink and notice Bobby and Castiel both staring at him. He had to say something.

"I'm sure we'll figure something out… no reason to panic or rush into anything." That sounded like a really good thing to say.

Or not. Bobby gaped at him. "This is your _soul_ we're talking about! Couldn't you at least look _a little_ concerned?"

From his expression, it was obvious Castiel at least agreed (to an extent) with Bobby.

Dean shrugged and picked up his sandwich again. "Cas and I went into this knowing there might be some unforeseen consequences. We'll handle it."

Bobby sat back with a glower at how neatly Dean had severed Bobby from the matter. Castiel looked carefully at Dean.

Dean nudged the chair that Castiel had vacated with his foot. "Sit and eat, Cas."

Bobby made a disgusted noise and got up and left.

Slowly, Castiel returned to the table and sat down again. His eyes never left Dean in that creepy stalker stare he had. "Dean…"

"Don't worry, Cas… it's going to be fine."

Even if Castiel had doubts, Dean firmly believed it. He just has a gut feeling.

To Be Continued…


	20. Chapter 20

By the next day, Dean was driving away from Bobby's with Castiel in the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean felt twitchy being in the same house with Bobby, knowing the hunter was dead-set on getting Castiel's grace out of Dean A.S.A.P. Best to just hit the road. He didn't have to ask Castiel to go with him; while Dean was stowing his duffel in the trunk, Castiel was getting in the car. The angel was looking much less wan and frail, but he continued to wear Dean's clothes instead of conjuring up another tax accountant get-up. Dean scrounged up a pair of tennis shoes for him, and he couldn't help but think the angel looked comfortable in his new outfit… much more than he'd looked in a full suit and coat. Of course, Dean could have told Castiel jeans and t-shirts were more comfortable than monkey suits. Maybe he could talk the angel into a permanent change, because an angel going around in vintage classic rock band t-shirts was beyond awesome.

They didn't have a destination in mind, so Dean just picked a direction and drove. Castiel rolled down the window and stuck his hand out into the air whipping past the car. Dean stole several glances over at the angel and smirked while Castiel flew his hand in the wind like a little kid. Then he got a mental image of a fledging bird standing in a stiff breeze with wings open, trying to take off.

"You're not thinking of vanishing on me, are you?" Dean asked.

Castiel brought his hand back in. "No. Not until I've found a way to undo the damage I did to you." Talk about a martyr complex.

"Don't worry about it, Cas. I'm not."

"You should be."

Dean looked over at him again and was met with adamant blue eyes. Terriers had nothing on Cas when it came to digging into something and not letting go. "Exactly what part of this should I be mad about? Told you, it's been all good things."

"You were incapacitated when I was gravely injured," Castiel pointed out.

"Okay, _mostly_ good things. But even _that_ I was glad for."

Castiel tilted his head. "Why?"

"Because at least I knew you were still alive."

For a long time, Castiel just stared at Dean while he drove. In the interest of not getting in a car accident, Dean did his best to ignore him. Eventually, Castiel said, "I don't think you appreciate the seriousness of this situation, Dean. Your soul and my grace are _tangled_. If I can't find a way to untangle them, you could be stuck with my grace forever."

Dean shrugged. "Actually, I'm okay with that."

The angel's incredulity was almost palpable. "You don't understand. When I say forever, I don't mean the rest of your mortal life."

That made Dean sit back and look sharply at Castiel. "Whoa, wait… are you saying I'd live _forever_? That I'd be _immortal_?"

"I don't know… but it's possible. This has never happened before; _anything_ is possible."

"But you don't know that for sure."

Castiel's stolid silence made Dean look over at him. The angel looked sadly at him. "Your soul is woven together with angelic grace, which does not die unless it is destroyed." Cas frowned. "You are your soul more than your body… you should know that."

After forty years in Hell, yeah, he understood what was actually _him_ and what was just a vehicle for hunting evil and getting laid.

He tried to picture it, never dying. He'd never really considered it before, not seriously, because every other time he'd encountered immortality it had been in connection with something bad. Vampires. Patchwork witchdoctors. Demons. But even when he didn't give it much thought, he'd never associated bad immortality with angels, at least not with Cas, and that had to mean something about how Dean really felt about it when it was angels living forever.

"Don't lie to yourself, Dean," Castiel chided angrily. "You would stop seeing yourself as human if you discovered you would live forever, and I know how you feel about that."

Dean scowled to himself.

"Everyone you cared about would die. Sam, Bobby, Lisa, Ben. You would lose them all."

"After all the practice I've had at losing people, I should be pretty fucking good at it," Dean grumbled bitterly. "And Sam… his body's walking around, but he's not my brother. You said so yourself, Cas… you are your soul and not your body. The thing I'd outlive now is just some guy that _looks_ like Sam."

Cas crossed his arms in a defiantly human gesture. "So you've given up hope of returning your brother's soul to him."

"No, I just… I don't know what else to try. I don't know what else I can do." And the last thing he wanted to talk about right then was his epic failure as an older brother.

Castiel seemed to soften a bit at that, but he did not relent. "Even discounting your brother, you would still outlive everyone else you care about."

"But not you," Dean countered and stole a glance at Cas. "I mean, just for the sake of argument, say I did get eternal life from your grace… you'd live forever with me, right? I mean, you'd be immortal like me. So I wouldn't be alone."

Castiel remained conspicuously silent and looked out the window, the wind ruffling his dark hair.

Somehow, it didn't really feel like Dean had won the argument, but he let it drop and kept on driving.

To Be Continued…


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: So, you all might be thinking 'blah blah blah, don't care, get on with the fic already!', but I just have to spazz a little bit right here, because I finally finished the original story that I have been working on for four years! It's a 315,000+ word behemoth, and it's DONE! *spazz spazz spazz* There's just some editing left to do, then it's on to seeing if I can actually manage to get this puppy published. Excuse me while I FREAK OUT! And, you know, if there are any published writers out there, don't be shy with the advice ;) I'm going to need all the help and luck I can get!

Okay… now back to your regularly-scheduled fanfic.

* * *

Because hunts seemed to find Dean about as often as he found them, he and Castiel started hunting together. Having an angel on his side made hunting just about the easiest thing he'd done in a really long time. Sometimes he thought shaving his face was more dangerous. He tried to harangue Castiel into backing off and letting him get dirty once in a while, but the angel wasn't interested in watching Dean get hurt. When Dean teased that he'd have to test out the immortal human theory sooner or later, Castiel was _not_ amused. In fact, furious was a pretty good word for it. Dean wasn't too big to admit that seeing Castiel pissed off at him was scary as shit. He had finger-shaped bruises on his arm for a week from where Castiel hauled him out of the alley they'd been standing in after taking out a gremlin, when he'd made that ingenious comment.

It wasn't just the rough manhandling that made Dean start watching Castiel more closely. Dean lived a brutal lifestyle. The life of a hunter shearing jagged edges out of people wasn't abnormal in his world. Dean had had his own dark days. He'd seen Sam go about as dark as a human could possibly go. His childhood was spotted with memories of his father raging and drunk when it started to get to him. So Dean was used to that. But he wasn't prepared to see that happen to _an angel_.

Castiel used to be righteous, and some ferocity went with the territory, but lately it wasn't righteousness so much as hostility that would creep in and make Castiel do things or say things that made Dean's eyebrows climb toward his hairline. He watched Castiel rip the head off a vampire with his bare hands, and Dean was astounded at the sight because he knew Castiel was too mighty to need to even _touch_ the vampire in order to destroy it. But he did, seemingly for the gratification of feeling bone crunching between his hands.

That wasn't the Castiel Dean knew, and he started to wonder. And worry.

But in typical Dean Winchester fashion, he skirted the serious talk as long as possible. One would think he'd have learned his lesson about avoiding the issue with Sam back in his demon blood guzzling days, but Dean was a master at burying the serious shit if it was apt to hurt. He let Castiel do his thing (because an angel of the Lord, it turned out, was a fucking amazing hunter – not so good at pretending to be human law enforcement or lying to witnesses, but when it came to finding evil and killing evil, _hell yeah_), and hoped it wasn't so different from humans going through a rough patch and needing to work stuff out.

Until it just couldn't be avoided any longer.

They were staying in a motel in Arizona when Dean was woken in the middle of the night by a metallic, rhythmic sound. He opened his eyes blearily, frowning at the scraping sound. He knew it in just a few seconds… blade on whetstone.

Dean looked toward the window and found Castiel sitting on the sill, the curtains open to let in the pale blue light from the Sleep Tite Inn sign. The angel was dressed in boxers and a plain white cotton t-shirt (when Castiel seemed amenable enough to adopting human wardrobe habits, Dean bought him some of his own clothes). His arms, mostly bare of clothes to mask their shape, were gangly and seemingly made entirely of bone and sinew. The light fell on Castiel's face in stark, savage patches of electric blue against pitch black shadows. The guy still hadn't put any weight back on his body, no matter how much Dean fed him. Dean was starting to think it was Castiel's _true form_ that was emaciated, though how that worked was beyond Dean. In Castiel's lap was a hooked blade (once Sam's, the one blade in addition to the one gun Dean had coerced his little brother into taking to college). Castiel slowly, methodically sharpened the edge. Scrape, scrape, scrape.

It was the look on his face, most of all, that made Dean sit up in bed. Castiel looked dark, dangerous, but most frighteningly of all, _human_.

"What's up, Cas?" Dean asked in a sleep-roughened voice.

Castiel paused his sharpening to look at Dean, and it was a look that sent a chill down Dean's spine.

"This weapon was dull."

"Uh huh." Dean leaned over and turned on the bedside lamp, just to throw some warm light on the angel. Not that it did much to soften his expression.

Dean frowned and realized that that long-avoided talk couldn't be put off any longer.

"Cas… what's going on with you?"

Castiel stopped his task again to look at Dean. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're not yourself." Dean took a breath. "And you never answered my question about whether or not you'd live forever."

That made the angel cock his head, and the gesture might have been familiar if it wasn't for the perturbed look in his eyes. "You're still thinking about that?"

"Thinking about the fact you never answered me, yeah."

With deliberate slowness, Castiel put the blade and whetstone down on the small table and shifted to face Dean. He considered him quietly a moment, during which Dean felt he dare not break eye contact. Not if he wanted answers.

Finally, Castiel said wearily, "I didn't answer your question because I don't know the answer."

That definitely wasn't what Dean had been expecting. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't you live forever? You're an angel… angels don't just _die_."

Castiel moved from the windowsill to sit on the bed next to Dean. The grace in Dean was eager for Cas to be closer, but he tried to ignore it and focused on Castiel.

"I mean," Castiel clarified, "I don't know how much longer I'll be an angel."

The room temperature dropped a good ten degrees. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Castiel looked crossly at Dean. "I told you, in the war in Heaven, regrettable things were asked of me. Do you remember why I chose to hide a part of my grace in you in the first place?"

"So you could cleanse yours when it was all over," Dean answered, starting to feel a little sick to his stomach.

"But I can't do that now… I can't reclaim my grace."

"And yours was damaged in the war," Dean said needlessly.

Castiel nodded. "The blackness will spread, and when the corruption is extensive enough, I will fall." Castiel sighed. "At which point I will no longer be an angel. I'll be mortal."

When that sank in, Dean surged to his feet. He paced. His temper rose. "Why didn't you explain that before?"

"I didn't see the point," Castiel retorted.

"There's a big fucking point to it! That's not a little detail, Cas. That's _big_."

"Don't you think I know that?" Castiel asked sharply. "I am facing the prospect of life as a human, and not even a full life at that. Trust me, the significance of it has _not_ escaped my notice." Castiel titled his head and smirked. "Though I have been amused by the irony of it. Dean Winchester living forever while Castiel, angel of the Lord, dies of old age."

Dean's whole chest clenched. Oh _hell fucking no_. The only reason he'd been able to deal with the very thought of life eternal was because Castiel would be there with him for it. In fact, it was kind of comforting to think of someone who _couldn't_ die on him. But this? _This_?

"There must be something you can do to cleanse your grace."

Castiel looked put out that they were even having this discussion. "There is only one way, and it's not an option anymore. I won't do that to you."

Dean perked up. "Wait a second, do _what_?" When Castiel didn't answer, Dean crowded up in his personal space, like Castiel himself was so wont to do. "You won't do _what_, Cas?"

Castiel looked up impassively at Dean, not moving from his place on the edge of the bed as he did so, and if Castiel had any clue about human body language he'd feel the submissiveness of his position, having to crane his neck to look Dean in the eye as the hunter towered over him. But Cas, of course, didn't. "I told you at Bobby's, though you _did_ seem to be tuning us out by then. Technically, I _can_ take my grace back, but not without taking parts of your soul with it."

For a second, Dean just stared down at Castiel. Waiting. But the fucking angel would make him make the next move. "And what if you did? What would happen to the pieces of my soul you tore out?"

"They would become part of me, hopelessly merged with my grace." Castiel frowned. "And I would not be able to completely remove my grace from you. Just like pieces of you would end up in me, pieces of me would remain in you."

"So what makes that such a bad plan that you wouldn't even consider it?"

Castiel's eyes flashed surprise and annoyance. "Sometimes I think I would enjoy slapping you."

"Hey, hasn't stopped you in the past. Do it, if you think it'll make you feel better, but you're still answering my question."

With a grunt, Castiel shook his head and slowly rose to his feet. Dean didn't back off to give him room, so it brought him nose to nose with Dean. For a second, Dean thought Castiel really _would_ slap him. He peered closely at Dean, as if studying the details of his soul in his eyes. Damn that man's relentless stare.

"You have to understand that keeping a piece of my grace inside you permanently would make you in some small degree _an_ _angel_. You would no longer be entirely human." Castiel lifted his chin fractionally, because he knew how monstrous being inhuman was in Dean's book. "Most likely we would be spiritually connected, as you felt connected to me while I was at war. But with pieces of a human soul – _your soul_ – in me, I would feel connected to you in return. And in some small measure, your soul in me would render me in some small sense _human_."

"Oh…" Dean hummed in comprehension. "Oh, I see. So you're phobic about getting tainted by the mud monkey, huh?"

Fury flashed in Castiel's eyes and it almost made Dean step back. Almost.

"I'm doing this for _you_, Dean. Like always, it's all for you." The angel's bitter tone only got worse. "I sacrifice again and again for you, and you never show me the least appreciation for what I do in your name. Only God has ever had more from me."

Dean thought that was unfair and inaccurate, but instead of tell Cas that, he asked, "And if you don't get your grace back, spoiled or not by a human soul, what happens to _you_?"

"Sooner or later, I will fall. It will only be a matter of time. Then I'll die… when this body gives out." Castiel suddenly looked depressed. "Do you see now what I'm doing for you?"

"Yeah," Dean growled. "Yeah, I do, and you can just _stop it_."

Castiel blinked, startled.

"Look, I'm sorry that I promised to hold on to your grace and got my filthy human soul all over it, but I'm not going to let you go human just because of my screw up."

The fire left Castiel's eyes, bit by bit, and he started to frown. "Dean…" his voice softened. "I'm not revolted by your soul. It's beautiful, and I'm proud of it."

"Proud?" Dean asked, baffled.

"Yes." Castiel smiled. "I remade your soul when I pulled it out of Hell. You're the most amazing thing I've ever done."

Dean's mouth opened but no sound came out.

"And I _won't_ tear pieces of it away from you. I would rather die than deface such a work of art."

Without ceremony, Dean gave Castiel a firm push that knocked him back on to the bed just behind his knees. "Damnit, Cas!"

From the bed, Castiel looked up, puzzled. "What?"

"You mean to tell me you've been balking at taking back your grace because you're concerned about _me_?"

"Of course. Why did you think I refused to take it back?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "You better hope we both live forever, because it'll take me that long to figure you out."

"Dean…" Castiel began warily.

"No, just shut up and listen." Dean took a breath when Castiel seemed inclined to obey. "I get it. You don't want to hurt me. I'm touched. But I'm not going to let you commit suicide, no matter how slowly, because I'm the fucking Mona Lisa to you."

"Who is –"

"So this is what's going to happen," Dean forged on, not letting Cas get a word in edgewise. "You're going to take your grace back, you're going to undo whatever damage Raphael and his stupid lackeys did to you in Heaven, and if I end up with pieces of you where pieces of me used to be…" Dean leaned down to look directly at Castiel. "_I am okay with that_."

"I'm _not_. Dean, I can't do that."

"And you know what I can't do, Cas? _Lose you_."

That made Castiel stare up at Dean, astounded and seemingly on the verge of a hugely chick flick moment.

"So don't do it for yourself," Dean pressed. "Do it for me, because I swear to god, if you die on me, Cas, I will _never_ forgive you. No matter how long I end up living, I'll hate you until my last day for dying."

"That's rather petty," Castiel noted with a sneer.

"You bet it is. So are we clear?"

Castiel seemed braced to fight him, all the way if necessary, then he just gave in and sagged back on the bed. "If you are _absolutely_ certain."

"Absolutely," Dean assured.

"Very well," Castiel relented. Then he looked around the motel room. "But not here."

"Then where –" Dean began to ask as Castiel reached out and touched his hand.

And in the next split second, they both disappeared from the crappy motel room in Arizona, spirited elsewhere in the blink of an eye.

To Be Continued…


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: I know, I know, you're about to say "but you just got back from Los Angeles!", but I'm going to have to ask you guys to wait a bit longer for the next chapter, as I'll be in Washington, DC for a few days. Sorry! But here, here's a chapter to tide you over! *shoves chapter toward readers*

* * *

Elsewhere was a cabin in the woods. Dean had no idea where they were exactly, but a short exploration turned up a small living room, a modest kitchen, one small bedroom, and a bathroom with the bare essentials. The overhead lights were just naked bulbs. The cabin utterly lacked any traces of the human who owned it, but the necessities seemed in place. A look out the window on one side of the cabin revealed the Impala, black and unharmed in the moonlight filtering through the fall foliage (and bless Castiel for knowing how much it would stress Dean out to be so far away from his precious car). A look out the window on the other side of the cabin gave a view of a lake and a dock, both silvered by the moon.

Memory jumped out at Dean and he turned to look over at Castiel. "Is that the dock from my dream when you visited me?"

"Yes."

"Wow… I didn't know this was a real place." He stood back from the window and turned to face Castiel. "Not that I don't dig the pad, but what exactly are we doing here?"

Castiel looked around the small house and explained, "This place once belonged to Jimmy Novak's grandfather. Jimmy visited it often as a child, but when his grandfather died it was abandoned. I found the memories in Jimmy's mind and came here. I repaired the cabin – it was in an advanced state of ruin – then I warded the woodlands surrounding it heavily, in case I should ever need a place on Earth to be unseen by my enemies. It wouldn't be perfectly safe, but a refuge nonetheless on the physical plane if I was desperate."

Dean smirked when he realized what Castiel was saying. "You made your own version a panic room." It also explained the lack of personal touches to the place, because what would an angel know of interior decorating? Dean was sure if Cas had even tried, it would just look eerily like a church.

Castiel's lips twitched in response. "I _was_ inspired by Bobby Singer's room."

"Well, this is pretty badass, Cas… but I still don't understand why you brought us here."

With a sigh, Castiel looked around the bare walls. He looked ridiculous standing there in his short-sleeved shirt and boxers, but Dean felt no less ridiculous in a t-shirt and boxer briefs. First chance he got, he had to ask Cas about their things.

"If you intend for us to go through with the retrieval of my grace…"

"I do," Dean stated firmly.

"Then it should be somewhere where we will both be at least moderately protected." Castiel looked long and hard at Dean. "This will be a harrowing experience for both of us, Dean. Painful. We will be vulnerable until we have recovered."

Dean took a moment to mull that over. He gave it very careful thought, because being open to attack was no small thing. Especially for someone like Dean, trained since childhood _not_ to get himself into a vulnerable position.

"If that's the case, maybe we should do this at Bobby's… at least there we'd have someone around to watch out for us until we're back on our feet."

Castiel scowled. "If you would feel safer there, I will take us there."

"But…?"

"But I feel certain he would not approve of what we're about to do."

"I don't know about that… I mean, he wanted your grace out of me."

"But it won't be." Castiel cast a hard look at Dean, refusing to let Dean gloss over that fact. "Do you truly believe Bobby Singer will support my actions if they mean the removal of a part of your soul?"

Dean winced. "No… when you put it that way, he'd probably be really against it." And he had to bear in mind that if Bobby was involved, the hunter would only be interested in helping _Dean_ out… he wouldn't spare much consideration toward what was good for Cas when push came to shove. That was Dean's priority.

Dean rubbed sleep out of his eyes and said, "All right, let's do this. But before we do anything, did you remember our things from the room?"

The look Castiel gave him was equally puzzled and offended at the insinuation he would _forget_ anything. "Of course… why?"

"Because we're in our underwear."

"… so?"

"Just put on some clothes, Cas," Dean grumbled, because even he couldn't explain why he didn't really want to stand around in his underclothes. Besides, if they were going to be in any kind of danger, any state of vulnerability, Dean would be damned if it would sneak up on him while he was in his undies. Maybe Castiel couldn't understand that, but it was important. Pants might not be much in the way of actual armor, but it _was_ psychological armor.

With a long-suffering sigh, Cas fetched their bags from the porch where he'd deposited them on their angelic flight out of Arizona and both men put on jeans. When Castiel was finished zipping up his fly, he looked at Dean and asked sarcastically, "Am I appropriately dressed now?"

He wondered if the angel would keep his barbed sarcasm when he was back to full angel status with a side-helping of Dean Winchester.

"Ready for the freaking opera, now tell me how we're going to do this."

Sarcasm and humor vanishing, Castiel looked intently around the cabin before beckoning Dean to follow him into the bedroom. One plain mattress with a set of white sheets was the only piece of furniture in the room.

Dean hesitated. "Uh… Cas?"

"You will need to lie down for this… I don't want you to injure yourself falling to the floor."

Dean swallowed as he walked toward the bed. "It's going to be that bad?"

"Yes." For what it was worth, Cas looked apologetic about that. "The extraction process will not be as… noninvasive as the insertion was. Not with your soul anchoring my grace inside you."

"Does that mean the…" he made a scooping gesture with his arm.

"If that's supposed to indicate my reaching into you to get it, yes," Castiel replied.

"Great," Dean grumbled sarcastically. He crawled on to the bed and flipped over to lie prone on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Castiel approached slowly. "I'm very sorry for the pain I'm going to cause you." And when Dean looked in the angel's eyes, he saw just how truly sorry Cas was about it. Castiel really was a good friend to Dean, no matter what he thought when the angel was being insufferable. He was much better than Dean's brother at the moment… if it was Sam doing this, he wouldn't care that he was going to more or less perform a torture technique on Dean.

"Don't sweat it. Thirty years on the rack… I think I can get through this."

The comparison made Castiel stiffen.

Dean leaned over and snagged the angel's hand, hanging limp at his side, with his own. He pulled Castiel down until the angel was sitting on the bed next to Dean, looking down miserably at the human. "It's okay, Cas… if it'll save you, it's worth it. At least there's a point to this." Dean offered a wavering smile for a brave front. "Now just get it over with."

Castiel took in a deep breath and visibly steeled himself for the task ahead of him. Then he nodded.

Dean remained perfectly still while Castiel shifted on the bed, positioning himself until he was straddling Dean's body. His knees were on either side of Dean's hips and one arm braced his upper body aloft of the hunter with his hand planted on the mattress by Dean's head. The other arm was bent, Castiel's hand resting gently on Dean's stomach in readiness. There he stopped.

Dean didn't realize he was holding his breath until he had to let it out with a whoosh. He looked up at Castiel and blinked, question in his eyes. He didn't get a chance to ask aloud.

In the next moment, Castiel dipped down and placed a single chaste kiss against Dean's forehead. The shock of it, in the grace inside him and his own surprise, made Dean's eyes go wide.

"I'm sorry," Castiel whispered hoarsely. "Try to think of something pleasant."

Then Castiel shoved his hand inside Dean's chest, plowing up under the ribcage into Dean's body.

Dean didn't even bother trying not to scream. He threw back his head and yelled at the top of his lungs as a hard, thick foreign object burrowed through his flesh, shoving aside stomach, intestines, lungs, muscle… tearing them apart, cleaving them out of the path of the hand that stretched deeper and deeper into Dean. The angel's touch was fire, it was ice, it was razor-edged, it was a blunt bludgeoning instrument. It was every kind of pain, every sensation of agony, compressed into a bulldozer forcing its way through him.

Then the lightning fingers closed tight around the knot of glorious grace inside his chest, the warmth and peace he'd embraced and made a part of him, and began to pull.

Dean bucked on the bed, his throat already raw from screaming. Tears squeezed out the corners of his eyes. He couldn't breathe; his lungs were scorched by Castiel's touch. Except he was still screaming, so he must be getting air.

The grace didn't want to budge at first… it stuck, happy where it was, content to stay.

When Castiel yanked harder, it tore free inside Dean. With it went chunks and shards of _Dean_, clinging to the grace's light and heat. Dean jerked and screamed even louder, arching even harder. The pieces of him that were torn away left gaping holes, and he felt his soul bleeding out. It was a great rushing loss, and how the fuck was he supposed to live through any of it?

The knot of grace and fist and soul were dragging down Dean's chest, following the path the hand had forced through Dean's body. The leaving was just as painful as the entering. Dean wanted to scream for Cas to stop, but he couldn't put together even that one word.

Castiel was such a fucking moron. Dean wasn't going to survive this. He'd die from this. How could he _not_?

Then the presence was gone, slipping out of him, and a great emptiness filled the hollow Castiel's hand had made. Dean's head spun as his body tried to fill in the space, but there wasn't enough of him to do it. He was gutted, eviscerated… Castiel must have taken the whole damn soul.

Then Dean was mercifully unconscious.

To Be Continued…


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Okay, guys. I know it's been far too long since the last update on this fic, but I SWEAR my techie friend had been trying to post this chapter for DAYS, but for some reason ffnet just wasn't having it.

* * *

The first thing he was aware of was warmth. Mostly along his right side, but smoldering in his chest, too, like the ember of a fire not quite extinguished.

With great effort, Dean opened his eyes and tried to get his bearings. In a bed. Wood-panel walls. Cabin. The heat next to him Castiel.

Cas.

Dean rolled his head and looked over at the angel. Castiel was out cold, curled on the bed with his back pressed to Dean's side. There was something more than sleep to his stillness, but Dean lay there long enough to see him breathing. That was a relief, at least.

Dean turned his attention to himself. He brought up a shaky hand and laid it on his chest. Fuck, it hurt in there. Next time he'd ask Castiel not to go in there with a fucking bear trap to fetch something he'd left. The feeling in his chest reminded Dean of the hellhounds ripping him to shreds, only this time without the signs of trauma or the lakes of blood. His torso wasn't _actually_ ribboned, merely _felt_ like it was.

But beyond the agonizing pain, he concentrated on how he _felt_. He felt like himself, mostly. He didn't feel whole, not entirely Dean Winchester, but he hadn't really felt intact since before Hell, so that wasn't really an unfamiliar sensation. Castiel had put him back together admirably, but the scars of Hell were impossible to ignore.

But this time there were definitely pieces missing… he felt their absence like a victim missed the flesh and organs blow away by an explosive round. Though honestly, the only time he'd felt anywhere near to complete in the last several years was while he had Castiel's grace within him, filling in the holes.

So in that respect, at least, he felt much like he had before he'd taken in Castiel's grace.

But he felt something else, too. Light. Warmth. Everywhere that he was dying, the light was patching the wound. It was still there… that sliver of Heaven. Just as Dean ached, the grace searched out the pain and soothed him. That amazing, unearthly bit of Castiel inside him healed him, just like Castiel had healed Dean. Every pain that harboring and returning the grace had cost him was worth it knowing that it was his now, Castiel's, but his. However long he lasted, it was with him for the rest of his life.

He shouldn't like that idea so much, but the plain truth was he _did_. Whether that made him inhuman or not, time would tell.

Releasing a huge sigh, Dean turned his head again to look at Castiel. The angel was oblivious, lost in his own healing process. When Dean felt fondness for the angel, the grace inside him swelled… it grew from an ember to a tiny flame. There was darkness in Dean, Hell-borne, and the fire beat it back.

Thinking the proximity thing might work the same for Cas, too, Dean rolled up on to his side, into Cas, and threw his arm over the angel. Dean's front pressed to Castiel's back, warm and solid. The grace in Dean was starting to rejoice at such close contact, celebrating softly at first with a joy steadily growing stronger.

He had no idea how long he'd been out, but the cabin seemed unchanged from before the extraction procedure, so he let that stand as evidence that they truly were safe. For the time being. He didn't know how long Castiel's healing would take, but Dean wasn't troubled by that, either. The war in Heaven was over, and they'd be greedy and take the time they needed, for there was no telling when the next crisis would snatch peace away from them.

Dean closed his eyes and fell back into the blackness of his own head. Black but for the diamond of angelic light buried inside him.

* * *

The angel needed more time to recover than Dean did… for Dean, it was just staunching the flow of blood from a ravaged soul. Castiel, on the other hand, had to rebuild himself. Watching the angel sleep was fun for all of ten minutes, then Dean started to get stir crazy.

He found himself out on the dock a lot. The fishing gear he'd dreamed wasn't there, but he pulled off his shoes and socks, rolled up his pants, and let his feet dangle in the water.

He thought about everything. About what he was now, as a man with a permanent hunk of angel in him. Castiel had said inhuman, but that didn't really feel true. Or, at least, not the _best_ way to describe it. He felt more _superhuman_… still human, only now even more than he'd been before. Or maybe that soft feeling of content and peace now inside him was normal, what normal people felt, and it took a piece of angel grace next to his heart for Dean to know what that was like.

He wondered how he would tell Bobby, because the old guy was like a father to him, and if this was who Dean now, for the rest of his life, then he had to tell Bobby the truth. Bobby had been ready to accept Dean if he loved another man… would he be just as supportive of Dean being more than just a man? Dean hoped so. Bobby hadn't turned Sam away, even when Sam was drinking demon blood, so why wouldn't he be okay with Dean having a little bit of a supernatural _good_ thing in him? It made sense, but still Dean was a little nervous.

And what about Castiel? What did sharing pieces of their soul and grace make them? Friends… that seemed like a pitifully inadequate way to describe them. Brothers… not really. They both had too much grief caused by their brothers for that word to befit what Dean and Castiel were to one another. Lovers… no. Not in the physical sense, anyway. Did Dean _love_ Cas? Sure. Hard not to feel more than friendly feelings for the guy who'd left a hunk of his grace inside you. But even before that, there was something indescribable when it came to him and Castiel. Dean sometimes thought he could remember snatches of his rescue from Hell… only pieces, but he dreamed sometimes of a tight grip, of the embodiment of ferocity and purity shielding him and protecting him… he remembered rest, for the first time in so long that he'd forgotten what it was to stop suffering. He knew that that respite so long awaited was because of Castiel.

Maybe soul mates would encompass their relationship best, but if Dean said that to anyone else, they wouldn't understand half of what Dean meant. How could anyone comprehend what it was like to know Castiel was close by because of the warm fuzzy puppies feeling in his chest? How could another human being ever understand what it was like to literally drop because his other part of him, on another plane of existence fighting _angels_, was dealt a vicious blow? Human beings had no language for that kind of connection for Dean to even _begin_ to make them understand.

Who else would know what it was like to simply _think_ the other's name and have that person appear on the wind with a flap of unseen wings?

'Cas.'

Dean sucked in a breath and grinned when the feeling in his chest swelled five-fold.

The next second was heralded by the flutter of ethereal wings just behind his right shoulder.

"Dean."

"About time you woke up," Dean teased. He craned his neck around to look at Castiel. The change was remarkable. Castiel's eyes were alive, back to their brilliant, vibrant blue. His complexion was healthy again, no longer pale and ashen. He looked like he'd put on ten pounds, his bones no longer the defining lines of him. But it was his presence most of all. It was immense and overpowering and _good_. There was no trace of that surly, moody Castiel that had been overtaking the angel as the corruption of his grace slowly overwhelmed him. He looked like the Cas that Dean had grown to care for as something inexplicable, more than friends or mere colleagues.

But he was still barefoot, wearing jeans and a plain white shirt. Which was just about perfect.

"How are you doing?" Dean asked gently.

Castiel paused in thought, looked at Dean with his feet in the water, then moved to sit on the edge of the dock alongside him. Dean scooted over to give Cas room, grinning when Castiel methodically rolled up his pant legs and then dropped his feet into the water. He seemed fascinated by the sensation of the cool water on his naked feet a moment.

"I am much better," Castiel finally answered.

"Your grace?"

"I was able to save it. There is still some purifying to do, but my strength is growing every hour. I predict it won't be long before I'm back to my old self."

"That's great." Dean kicked, sending a small arc of water over the lake surface. Castiel stared at the ripples that resulted. "What about the bits of Dean Winchester in there?"

Castiel took a longer time to think about that answer. He seemed to be looking inward, searching for those very pieces and examining their fit.

"I thought their addition would be awkward or uncomfortable… that I would require a great deal of time getting use to the changes they had on me," Castiel finally said.

"And?"

The angel looked truly baffled… or maybe astounded. "They feel natural as a part of me."

It might not have been intended as a compliment, but Dean felt a rush of warmth at that all the same.

Castiel cocked his head and glanced at Dean. He looked speculative.

"What?" Dean asked.

"I'm trying to understand how we blended in the first place. It shouldn't have happened."

All Dean had to offer was a shrug. Hell if he knew.

"I wonder if it is our fondness for each other that eroded the boundaries between us," Castiel mused. Dean made a face. He wasn't sure if he preferred 'fondness' or 'profound bond'. In quintessential Castiel fashion, the angel saw no taboo in addressing open affection between two dudes, and Dean realized he was so used to it from Castiel that he didn't even bother chastising him. "Perhaps the walls were primed to fall long before you harbored my grace." Castiel looked over thoughtfully at Dean. "Or maybe it's you."

"Me?"

"Yes… maybe your soul was never content to exist alone."

Which made Dean sound clingy and incapable of existing happily in isolation. Dean shifted uncomfortably because there was probably too much merit to that. "Yeah, well, what about you? I mean, your grace ends up in a human and settles down real damn quick."

The defensive rejoinder was lost on Castiel, who merely took Dean's words into consideration. "It wasn't prone to do so with just _any_ human; I never tangled myself with Jimmy Novak." But even still, Castiel frowned in thought. "But when the human was _you_…" Dean was going to have to hold an intervention if this conversation got much girlier. "You may be right…" Castiel concluded, "we should consider the possibility that neither of us was designed to be without close companionship."

"Or, you know, we could not consider anything." Dean huffed out a breath. "Why can't it just be what it is, Cas? Why do we have to pick it apart?"

Cas frowned slightly and dropped his eyes to the water's surface around his ankles. He kept his mouth shut, but Dean could tell the angel was no where near finished analyzing their new coexistence. Whatever, as long as Cas kept the mushy sentiments to himself… if that was even possible. Time would tell just how much they would learn to read each other.

"So… what now?" Dean finally asked, breaking a comfortable silence that had fallen between them.

Castiel looked up and his expression hardened into determination and resolve that Dean knew all too well. "We devote our full attention and all our energies to our next mission."

Already, Dean was feeling resistant and weary. Couldn't they ever just stop and catch their breath? "Yeah, and what's that?"

Blue eyes met hazel-green, powerful and unrelenting. "Returning your brother's soul to its rightful place."

Dean's mouth dropped open. After this long, he'd all but given up on that. He hated to admit it to himself, but the cold hard facts had made it look pretty much impossible to fetch Sam's soul from Lucifer's cage.

To Dean's shocked look, Castiel continued, "When I was at war against Raphael and his followers, I could not spare any effort toward saving your brother. Despite what you thought, I regretted that deeply, but at the time there was nothing I could do to change it." Castiel's look lifted, filled with the flush of victory after a long and grueling fight (even if it still had some of that sorrow of having lost brothers and sisters). "But the war is over now… and I won't stop until Sam is returned to his former self." Castiel, the angel that marched into Hell and pulled Dean out, was bright in his eyes and strong in his presence. "You _will_ have your brother back, Dean… if we have to move Heaven and Earth to do it."

And Castiel fucking _could_, that was the mind-blowing part.

For the first time in months, hope began to blossom in Dean. Hope for the perpetually damned Winchesters. His brother… _Sammy_. They could get him back. With an angel on his side, committed completely to the mission, Dean couldn't imagine how they could fail.

Dean began to grin and _totally_ did not get misty-eyed in the _least_. He'd slug anyone who suggested otherwise.

"Thank you, Cas," Dean croaked.

Castiel brought up his arm and put it around Dean's shoulders. It wasn't stilted or uneasy like Castiel's forays into human gestures usually were, and Dean wondered if that would be one of his gifts to Castiel… comprehending the human need for physical contact. The necessity of basic comfort. If so, this sharing parts of themselves was going to kick _so much ass_.

Dean felt himself coming to life in a way he hadn't in ages. He felt decades younger. Stronger. He felt like _himself_ again… like Dean Winchester going out to give the world a pounding for fucking with his little brother.

Only this time, he'd do it with an angel by his side.

END

**Note from the techie friend:** FanfictionDotNet is still having some kind of technical issues. I can't access the 'edit story properties' page to change the story status to 'completed', but please note that it IS COMPLETED. Fortunately, I found a workaround in one of the forums that finally allowed me to post this chapter because originally I couldn't access that either. Hopefully they'll have the 'edit story properties' page errors resolved soon. Enjoy!


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